


Celestial Touch

by itsfnickingawesomeness



Category: Supernatural
Genre: F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-07-08
Updated: 2014-08-04
Packaged: 2017-12-18 03:45:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 64,603
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/875248
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/itsfnickingawesomeness/pseuds/itsfnickingawesomeness
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Supernatural is the newest and hottest strip club in San Francisco. It’s more than just a normal strip club- it’s ethereal, magical… unearthly, even. Featuring sixteen of only the best and most skilled dancers from all over the country, it caters to the best of the best. But as secret deals are made and murders and deadly accidents begin to happen, the fate of the club- and the lives of the people in it- are at stake.<br/>“Get ready for the best night of your life… our boys have a celestial touch, and they’re all yours.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Going out Clubbing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this is my new story, based off of a gifset I saw on Tumblr. 
> 
> I'm looking for a beta, and I am also looking for a skilled gif creator to make gifsets for the story. Message me on here or on Tumblr (my username is the same) if interested :)
> 
> Nothing in this story is concrete (I just got the idea three days ago), so if you have any events/couples/plots you want to happen please don't be afraid to let me know!

**Follow me on[Tumblr](http://itsfnickingawesomeness.tumblr.com/) for new chapters, updates, fanart, and visual guides for the story.**

* * *

_An old, worn-looking building sat on the corner of 9th and Folsom St, in San Francisco, California. It was quite inconspicuous to the unknowing observer; looking shabby, used, and dull. Red brick covered all four sides of the two story building, faded and cracked; an unimpressive flat black tile roof topped it off. The windows were only on the top floor, just small little things caked with dirt. Ivy had started to grow up the front side, adding to the almost abandoned atmosphere. The two industrial looking metal doors were often graffitied with gang signs, and had trash gathered in front of them. Looking at this decrepit site, one would never think that anything but drug deals and crime would happen there. Maybe that was the whole purpose of the outside, to obscure what went on inside. Because, let me tell you, what went on inside- it was not for normal, everyday people._

  
_Maybe I’m getting ahead of myself. I’m sure you want to know the story behind this seemingly bland and aged building that I’m describing; the reason for its mysterious air. From personal experience, I can say that it is no easy thing to describe. The sheer wonder and brilliance of what occurred there… it cannot be put into simple words. It would take hours- days, even- to communicate the entirety of the transpired events. That is why I have decided to do it like so, in this story. By the end of my tale I hope you have a better idea of what I mean when I say that this building was, truly, supernatural._

* * *

As the black ’67 Chevy Impala motored to a stop on the street and shut off, the driver threw his hands up in the air. “Sonovabitch- I knew Bobby was bullshitting us!” he exclaimed, a steely look on his face. The deserted street, the rapidly falling sun, the sketchy building- it all pointed to a prank pulled on the two men seated in the car by their family friend. It wouldn’t be the first time, and it certainly wouldn’t be the last. This, however, was low- even for Bobby Singer.

  
The man in the passenger seat turned and gave the driver what could only be described as a bitch face. “Oh, I’m so sorry for your loss, Dean. Can we just go back to the apartment now?” He leaned back in the leather seat, huffing a breath out. He hadn’t wanted to come here in the first place- he had been dragged in the car against his will among exclamations that he needed to “get out more” and “have some fun”. ‘ _It’s not like I have a job to work or anything,_ ’ he thought, running a hand through his hair.

  
Dean grumbled, still craning his neck around to look at the building from all possible angels; a small amulet that was hanging off of his neck bouncing on his chest. “There’s gotta be something here. A sign… maybe a paper….” He trailed off, every second getting angrier with Bobby. ‘ _What kind of a person does that to a man?_ ’ he thought, shaking his head and running a hand down his face.

  
“Well Sam, I guess Bobby got us. Again. This was a sick joke, though.” Dean groused, turning the key in the ignition and listening to his baby rumble to life. This car was his pride and joy, given to him by his father, John, before he died. John bought it slightly used in 1967, and it was still in perfect condition thanks to Dean. He never let anyone else drive it- even his brother Sam hardly ever got the chance. Sam knew better than to try, though- he liked having two balls, thank you very much.

  
As the car turned the corner and started off down the empty road, Sam saw something out of the corner of his eye. His head whipped around, and he made a face at what was before him. He debated not telling Dean so that they could just go home, but he was nothing if not a good person (sometimes). “Hey, Dean- look.” he sighed, cocking a thumb towards his passenger side window. Dean slowed down the car, leaning over Sam to see out the window. A grin lit his face, and he quickly sat back in his seat, giving a fist pump.

  
“Alright! Good job, Sammy. Now let’s go have some fun.” he cheered. He swung the car around with a fair amount of protest from the tires, and parked it against the curb. Jumping out of the car, Dean tossed the keys into his pocket and walked across the street. Sam followed behind him, making sure the car was actually locked. In front of them, a small white neon sign, blinking lazily against the faded brick wall, read “Supernatural”, surround on either side by a pure white wing. Beneath it was a dull gray door, marked by some of the many gangs in this part of the city.

  
Supernatural, according to Bobby, was the newest strip club in their neighborhood. An old business partner of Bobby’s (he refused to call him a friend) had opened it just a couple weeks ago. He had sent a message to Bobby, wanting to meet up there and talk. Instead Bobby ignored him, calling Dean and telling him to check it out for him. “I’m not going anywhere near that idjit unless that club is good.” he had grumbled. Dean was only all too willing, and had volunteered Sam for the mission as well.

  
Dean rapped on the door, giving Sam an excited look, complete with raised eyebrows and feral grin. Sam rolled his eyes, already getting tired of his sex-crazed older brother. He wasn’t sure if he was going to last the night. Shoving his hands in his pockets, Sam started thinking about the newest case at the law office he worked at. His thoughts were shortly interrupted as a minuscule door opened on the previously smooth metal, and a deep voice rumbled, “Club doesn’t open for another hour and ten minutes.” One dark eye could be seen through the hole.

  
Showing a wide, toothy smile, Dean said smoothly, “Hi! Yea, we know, but we’re friends of Bobby Singer, and we’re supposed to talk to the owner. He said to come by before opening. So why don’t you scoot on over, Hulky, and let us in.” He finished with a cocky wink, and Sam closed his eyes and mentally face-palmed. One of these days Dean was going to get himself shot.

  
A low, almost animalistic growl could be heard from the other side of the door and Dean faltered, confusion entering his face. He’d never heard a human make that kind of noise. The little window slammed shut, and there was silence for a minute. “Good job, Dean, you pissed off the Hulk.” Sam whispered pointedly.

  
Dean swayed, shaking his head. Like the guy could actually do anything to them. “Relax, he’s not gonna-” Dean’s reply was cut off as the door flew open, and he jumped and raised his arms up to his face in a bad imitation of a fighting stance. Sam rolled his eyes- yet again- when he saw that it wasn’t the Hulk coming out to beat up Dean. He shoved Dean’s shoulder, trying to make him behave.

  
“Hello, boys. What can I do for you?” came the accented greeting from the doorway. A short man with slightly thinning black hair was there, in a tailored suit and tie. His expression was blank, though slightly mocking, it seemed. He was obviously from somewhere in England, and he seemed like the wealthy and shady “I’ll buy your house out from underneath you” type.

  
Dean shifted his weight, obviously trying to roll with the slightly strange situation they were in. “Um- hi. We’re friends of Bobby Singer? He sent us to talk with you. He’s really busy right now.” he explained, grinning a bit at the end. He didn’t like the looks of this guy- ha already looked like he was up to something.

  
The suited man gave him a searching look, and then turned and did the same to Sam. He shifted awkwardly, wondering if they were in trouble for some reason. “Oh, that bugger- he’s not busy. He just didn’t want to see his old pal Crowley.” Crowley- they assumed it was him- shrugged, unbothered. “Oh well- don’t want you to have made the trip for nothing. Come on in.” He turned away, walking briskly inside. Looking at each other the boys followed, pushing the door shut behind them. Inside it was dim, with only a few of the lights lit on the ceiling, and they could just make out the interior if they squinted.

  
Right in front of them was a large stage, taking up a good third of the surprisingly large room. It had a short runway sticking out towards the door, and three different poles set up on the main stage area. It was nicely made, with wood paneling and silky-looking fabrics hanging off of it. Chairs surrounded the stage, up close and personal. To the far left of the stage was obviously the bar, long and low, surrounded by comfortable stools. The wall behind was stacked ceiling high with shot glasses, beer mugs, and wine glasses. They could see tips and caps of every size and color peeking over the counter. Over to the far right was the main sitting area, with booths against the wall and circular tables with white tablecloths. The booths, chairs, and stools all had white leather seats set in dark-colored wood that matched the tables, bar, and stage. There was a spiral staircase over in the right corner, going through a hole in the floor, both upwards and downwards, in the same deep brown wood. The walls were just plain white drywall, with more silky-looking fabrics or wall sconces on them. Overall it exuded a very professional and beautiful feeling- it was obviously not nearly as sleazy as the outside suggested.

  
The entire time Dean and Sam had been ogling the interior, Crowley had stood by with a small smirk on his face. “Nice, isn’t it? Designed it myself. I do take pride in my business place.” He gestured around, a small glass of scotch in his previously empty hand. “It’s not all bad, you know. Just the reputation.” The boys nodded, although they weren’t fully paying attention.

  
“Jesus!” Sam started as the Hulk from earlier came up almost silently behind him. He ended up jumping closer to Dean, who was eyeing the Hulk uncertainly as well. Crowley chuckled, turning around and waving his hand for them to follow. He called over his shoulder, “Don’t worry about him- we call him Hellhound, or Hound for short. He’s our bouncer slash security. He’s not as scary as he looks.” Shooting them a large smirk he led them up the spiral stairs, a few steps above them.

Dean leaned forwards to Sam in front of him as they climbed after the owner. “So far this place looks pretty ritzy- I think even Bobby would have a good time.” He whispered. Sam nodded, although he didn’t have many strip clubs to compare to. It seemed like a restaurant or a hotel bar almost. He supposed that it was nice that it didn’t seem like a typical gross club.

  
As they rounded the last curve in the staircase, they came upon a hallway with three doors on either side, and one at the end of the hallway. Dean chuckled, and Crowley looked backwards, an eyebrow raised. “These are the private rooms, am I right?” he questioned. Crowley nodded, a small smirk seemingly tattooed onto his mouth. Dean nodded, still grinning. He tried to peek into the doors as they passed, but the solid white doors were locked tight. He assumed they were as nice as the rest of the place, but he kind of wanted to see for himself. He might be spending a lot of time here in the near future, and these rooms were the best part of the club.

  
Crowley opened the door at the end of the hall, ushering the boys in. Unlike the rest of the club, this room was decorated more elegantly, with older furnishings and paintings. There were bookshelves on the left and right walls, floor to ceiling, stacked with books and papers and files. On the wall behind the desk there was a small window and a couple of paintings of historical figures. The centerpiece was a large mahogany desk, with a large leather chair behind it and two smaller ones in front. It looked like an old lady’s dining room to Dean. He didn’t say anything, of course- he didn’t want to mess with Hound again. Sitting in the two offered chairs, the boys waited quietly while Crowley shuffled around, moving some papers. Eventually, Dean spoke up, like Sam knew he would.

  
“So… we’re here to investigate for Bobby. So far, it seems like a really great place you got here.” He paused, green eyes lighting up. “I’m probably gonna stop by here often enough myself.” Falling silent, Dean looked towards Sam, silently pushing him to say something too. Sam mentally sighed.

  
“Is there anything else you want us to tell Bobby? I’m sure he’ll want to come down and visit after Dean’s enthusiasm.” he asked, sending a smile.

  
Crowley chuckled, the laughter sounding more mocking than ever. “Well, you can tell that bloody idiot that he won’t get any free drinks out of me. Sending you two in his stead… I never….” He trailed off, shaking his head theatrically. Looking back up, he adopted a more innocent expression. “Also, you can tell him that our performers are… unusual. They are much different than any others in the business. They won’t be what is expected.” he finished, sitting back in his chair with a small smile.

  
Dean raised an eyebrow at Sam, who shrugged minutely. They had no idea what was meant by that. Dean was the one who responded. “Well, I personally love strip clubs of all kinds, so I’m sure I’ll enjoy myself. But we’ll pass on the message.” Crowley nodded, seeming pleased, smirking once again. The trio lapsed into silence, and Sam shifted in his seat. The club owner stared on, continuing to smirk, obviously enjoying this. After thirty seconds, Dean clapped his hands together, blowing out a breath. He couldn’t stand these awkward silences. “So- how much longer until the club opens?” he questioned, rubbing his hands together. It had been too long since he’d seen a good show.

  
Crowley glanced at the gold watch on his wrist. “Half an hour. Are you going to stay for the night?” he countered, eyes glinting.

  
Dean smiled, spreading out his hands. “Why not? I always have time for clubs.” Sam rolled his eyes, wondering how it was possible for Dean to be so focused on this one thing. And of course, this meant that Sam had to stay as well, since he certainly wasn’t walking twenty blocks back to their apartment in the dark. Dean wiggled his eyebrows at Sam, knowing that he was trapped. Hey, it would do his little brother some good- tipping a stripper was a needed life skill!

  
“Excellent!” Crowley leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms. “Seeing as the club still technically isn’t open yet, I’ll get you boys some drinks and we’ll have a nice chat while we wait, hm?” Dean and Sam nodded, polite smiles on their faces. Leaning down, Crowley picked up two tumblers and a glass bottle, filling the small glasses with the strong-smelling drink. He handed them to the boys, raising his own half-empty one in a toast.

  
Taking a sip, Dean gave an appreciative noise. “This is good stuff.” he complimented.

  
“We take only the best here.” Crowley said, tilting his head. After taking another drink, almost emptying his glass, he posed the question, “So- what do you boys do for a living?” Looking both of them up and down, it seemed like he was searching them for something.

  
“Well, I kind of do random things where I can. I fix up cars, I do some hunting upstate to sell the meat, I volunteer at the fire station. Nothing too steady.” Dean explained, giving a one-shouldered shrug. He liked the freedom to move around. Crowley nodded, raising an eyebrow, and turned towards Sam.

  
Sam cleared his throat. “Well, I work at a law firm a few blocks from my apartment. I’m kind of an intern there while I’m in school.” Crowley once again nodded, raising the other eyebrow.

  
“You look pretty big to be a lawyer. I would’ve pegged you for an athlete, or a gym instructor.” Crowley murmured with a grin.

  
Dean snorted. “He’s a health nut. Salads and fruits and everything. He works out all the time.” Sam sighed, leaning his head back in his chair.

  
“Ah, I see. And you look strong, too. Probably from the hours at the fire station?” Crowley inquired back at Dean. He nodded hesitantly, wondering where this topic of conversation was going. But Crowley merely nodded to himself, another small smirk on his lips. Dean sent a look over to Sam, who was just as confused. “And how old are you boys?” was the next strange question.

  
Dean glanced back at Sam again, before answering slowly. “Um… I’m twenty five, and he’s twenty one.” These were odd questions, especially coming from the owner of a strip club who they had just met. He was starting to understand why Bobby hadn’t wanted to come down here- Crowley was strange.

  
Sam took the moment of silence to turn the questioning around on Crowley. “So, Bobby told us you guys were business partners once?” he started.

  
Crowley chuckled, taking a drink and emptying his glass. “Yes, we were. Right old grouch that one is. Always complaining about something. We worked together in the same company for a few years in the eighties. After that we went our separate ways. I to bigger and better businesses,” he opened his arms to show his office, “and he to… whatever it is he’s doing these days.” he finished, waving a hand around in the air.

  
“Car shop and junkyard.” Dean supplied, glad to get off the topic of himself. Never one to share information with random people.

  
Crowley raised his eyebrows. “Ah. Interesting.” He leaned back in his chair, crossing his left leg over his right. “What is his relationship to you anyway?” he suddenly asked, tone a bit sharper.

  
Frowning, Dean leaned forward. “Look, no offense, but we just met you, so I’m not really loving the interrogation here.” There was a small staring contest going between him and Crowley, whose face showed nothing but mild amusement. Sam shifted and cleared his throat, but he was ignored in the tension.

  
A small, unseen clock began to chime in the owner’s office, and both Dean and Sam started in their seats. “Ah- ten o’clock on the dot. I assume you boys will want to be downstairs when the entertainment starts, yes?” Crowley asked, standing up from his large chair, argument forgotten. The boys followed suit, placing their empty tumblers on the crowded desk, Dean nodding. The three then left the office, Crowley bringing up the rear. Down the spiral stair they went, entering once again into the plush main room. This time, however, a few patrons were seated at the chairs around the stage, the lighting had been turned on, and a blonde male bar tender was already mixing drinks.

  
What surprised Dean, however, was that every single person in there so far was female. Sure, he had seen plenty of women in strip clubs. Girls tagging along with their boyfriends (weird, but whatever floats your boat), drunk girls going to have fun, and of course girls who went for the girls. One of his friends from college, Charlie, she used to go to strip clubs all the time for the ladies. But what Dean didn’t get was why there were so many. “Hey, are there usually this many women here?” he called over his shoulder to Crowley as they stepped off the staircase.

  
“Oh yes, of course.” he replied, his face neutral. Before another word could be said, the owner put a hand on the shoulder of each brother. “Now, I must attend to business. I want you two to have fun, bring home a good report back to Bobby. Don’t worry about tipping, our dancers get quite enough from these rich broads as it is. And drinks are on the house- just don’t overdo it, okay?” With a final smile and shoulder squeeze he disappeared into the rapidly growing crowd.

  
Dean ran a hand over his face, turning towards Sam. “Okay, is it just me, or is that guy on some sort of drug?” The questions, the smirks, the general unnatural feel of this club… it was giving Dean the heebie-jeebies. Looking towards the door, he now saw some males walking into the club, which made him feel a bit better about being here.

  
Sam laughed, shaking his head. “I don’t know, man, but he was definitely strange.” He was slightly more at ease than Dean, more trusting in people in general. “Anyway- isn’t this what you’ve been waiting for? The strippers, the alcohol, the fun… don’t get all crazy and let your enjoyment fade away.” His speech was only slightly (okay, a lot) sarcastic. Dean didn’t seem to notice.

  
Nodding, he declared, “You’re right. We’re here, we might as well enjoy ourselves. Grab us a seat, Sammy, and I’ll get us some booze.” Sam protested, saying that a water was fine, but Dean waved a hand over his head as he walked away, showing that he didn’t really care. Sam sighed harshly, turning around to look for two empty chairs near the left side of the main stage. He sat down on one and put his coat on the other, scuffing his shows on the floor while he waited for Dean to get back.

  
Dean, meanwhile, was over talking to the bartender. As he walked up he said, “Two beers, please.” and leaned against the counter.

  
“Sure thing. Never seen you before- what’s your name?” the blonde asked in a strongly accented voice as he reached for two bottles. Were all these guys from England?

  
“I’m Dean, first night here.” he answered. “You?”

  
A small smile crossed the bar tender’s face. “Balthazar.” He popped open both of the lids and passed the drinks over the counter.

  
Dean raised an eyebrow. “Balthazar? That’s a… pretty unusual name.” he commented, reaching forward to take the two open bottles.

  
Balthazar chuckled. “What can I say- some people are born with them.” He looked Dean up and down, studying him almost like Crowley had done. “So this is your first night here, hm?” Dean nodded, taking a swig of his beer. Balthazar smiled wider. “Well, I think you’ll enjoy yourself very much, so I hope to be seeing you more often.”

  
Dean nodded, eyes already scanning the room for Sam. “Yup. Thanks, Balthy.” he said, spotting Sam and turning to leave.

  
“No, don’t. Just Balthazar is fine.” he corrected. Dean froze for a second, before nodding and walking briskly away towards the two chairs Sammy had secured. Jesus, for a second Dean had thought that Balthazar was going to pull a Hulk or something.

  
Sitting down, Dean handed Sam his drink. “The bartender’s name is Balthazar. He has an accent, too. What is it with the names and accents around here?” he demanded quietly. It was seriously weird- did they hire any people who didn’t match that criteria? “He’s also got some creepy personality- I thought he was gonna kill me when I called him Balthy.” Sam sighed and didn’t answer, merely taking a sip from the bottle. He personally wasn’t surprised that Dean had already annoyed someone. “This is good stuff. I wonder where they get their booze from….” Dean wondered aloud, changing topics just like that as he swirled his beer around in the brown glass bottle.

  
Suddenly the lights dimmed once again, and a single spotlight was shone on center stage on the pole there. Dean sat up straighter as the mumbling from the crowd died down. Over hidden speakers came Crowley’s calm and cool voice. “Welcome ladies- and gentleman- to Supernatural. Remember, no touching, and keep it in your pants. Get ready for the best night of your life… our boys have a celestial touch, and they’re all yours.”

  
The two brothers quickly turned to each other, shock on their features. “Wait- boys?” Dean asked incredulously.


	2. Meet the Dancers

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this is my new story, based off of a gifset I saw on Tumblr.
> 
> I'm looking for a beta, and I am also looking for a skilled gif creator to make gifsets for the story. Message me on here or on Tumblr (my username is the same) if interested :)
> 
> Nothing in this story is concrete (I just got the idea three days ago), so if you have any events/couples/plots you want to happen please don't be afraid to let me know!

So here’s the next chapter! I know there’s lots of new characters and it’s a bit confusing, so I made a [visual guide](http://itsfnickingawesomeness.tumblr.com/post/55267340200). Also, the face claims for each character are listed in bold when they appear.

* * *

Castiel sighed, scratching at his head. Looking in the mirror, he ran both hands through his hair, making it stand up more. After studying his reflection for a few more seconds, relatively satisfied, he turned around on his chair, facing the other mirrored wall and his friend Gabriel. He was, as usual, snacking on candy- this time it was an entire family size bag of M&Ms. He could always be found with some sort of sweet or another in his hand or mouth- it was a wonder he wasn’t as large as a whale. Castiel shook his head, asking in his deep voice, “Do you ever stop eating?”

  
Gabriel shook his head, mouth full of chocolate. “Nope! I ask, why stop? There’s plenty here!” he answered with a cheesy smile. Castiel stared, squinting, shaking his head once again. Gabriel paused in his eating, twisting in his seat, giving him a look. “Cas, we’ve talked about this- don’t stare.”

  
Castiel nodded once, rolling his eyes the smallest amount, and turned his head to look towards the door and the clock mounted above it. “We’ve still got ten minutes before we need to be out there.” he remarked. He was already dressed, if you could call what we was wearing being dressed. A short pair of white shorts, a blue tie, a tan trench coat, and- to top it all off- a pair of strap on wings, with black feathers. Gabriel was dressed in a short pair of denim shorts, with an opened white button down shirt with light brown wings underneath. It was a relatively standard outfit, with only slight variations throughout all of the dancers. It was certainly better than other things Crowley could be making them wear.

  
Gabriel suddenly swung his legs off their perch on the counter, spinning around to fully face a startled Castiel. “Why don’t we go play a prank on Lucifer?” he suggested, waggling his eyebrows, candy momentarily forgotten. “Or, even better, Michael?” He stood up, already heading to the closed door. What else was there to do in the ten minutes before show time?

  
Sighing, Castiel leaned forward and gripped the corner of Gabriel’s shirt as he passed by. He was always playing pranks on everyone, but he especially liked to pick on Michael and Lucifer because they got upset the most. He used to prank Castiel all the time, but eventually gave up after all he got was a sigh and a disapproving frown. Castiel didn’t like it when they fought, but he was somehow always caught in the middle. “Gabriel- do you remember what happened last time? Michael nearly stabbed you, and Lucifer literally hit you with his car.” His wide blue eyes were intent and concerned, and it warmed Gabriel’s heart. Or, it would, if he listened to those kinds of things, that is.

  
“Of course I remember! I’m fine, they’re fine- no lasting damage! Besides, even you have to admit, those were some good pranks.” He chuckled, remembering Michael’s face when the shower had splat sticky glitter over him, and Lucifer’s when he found his Nair-induced bald spot. The bodily pain and staying low for a few days had been totally worth it. He slipped quickly past Castiel, giving a jaunty wave as he went down the hallway.

  
Standing up, Castiel poked his head out the door, looking down the hallway, seeing nothing but the seven other doors in this underground level. The rooms were Raziel and Haniel, Camael and Zadkiel, Raguel and Jophiel, Azrael and Ariel, Michael and Lucifer, Raphael and Uriel… and a blank door. He paused for a moment, staring at the plain white door directly across from Gabriel’s and his room. That was where Sandalphon and Metatron’s room had been, before. Now the plaque with the swirling script was removed and thrown out, the twins already almost forgotten, their spots as of yet unfilled.

  
Metatron had been found 10 days ago, in their room, stabbed in the heart. No one knew how it happened or why, or who did it. The security cameras didn’t show anyone coming into the club beforehand or leaving afterwards. Of course, people started pointing fingers at each other, throwing accusations, especially at Sandalphon. He was, of course, the only other dancer to have a key to their room. He vehemently denied the claims, of course- he was his only brother. Castiel had never put the blame on him- Sandalphon was completely distraught at the news. No one could be that good of an actor.

  
Of course, all blame on him was effectively wiped away when he was found six days later, in his room, stabbed in the heart. The whisperings and blames started flying again, no one knowing how this was happening, everybody panicking. Haniel and Raphael had gone to Crowley, begging him to shut the club down, to get the FBI, anything. Crowley had refused, saying that eventually it would stop, that there was nothing that could be done. All had been quiet after that.

  
“When do you think Crowley will find new dancers?” he asked absentmindedly to the hallway. It was a rule that the club had sixteen dancers. No one knew why, but it had been that way since the place opened. No more, no less.

  
Raphael **(Tom Hiddleston)** poked his head out of his open door, wearing his trade-mark grin. He and Uriel were in the room right next to the empty one, across the hall from Raziel **(David Tennant)** and Haniel **(Bradley Cooper)**. “Cheer up, Castiel, I’m sure we’ll find two more dancers soon. If not, you and I can always put on some wigs, yeah?” he called. His British accent, light brown eyes, blinding and infectious smile, and altogether amazing structure made him very popular with the clients.

  
Castiel grinned slightly. “Yes, I’m sure Crowley would love that.”

  
“Not with you ugly lumps. Maybe with someone prettier. Like me.” Jophiel **(Matt Bomer)** teased from down the hall, his dark brown curls bouncing and bright blue eyes flashing as he leaned out of his doorway, dressed in nothing but black shorts and a white shirt collar, golden brown feathers framing his shoulders.

  
“All of you, just quit it.” Zadkiel **(Jeremy Renner)** yelled from the other end of the hallway, not even leaning out his door. Everyone fell silent- Zadkiel had that effect on people. You were never sure what he was thinking or how he was feeling, and it was unsettling. “If anyone’s dressing in drag, it’s gonna be me.” Laughter rebounded against the plain white walls, and even somber and silent Azrael **(Aidan Turner)** let out a quiet chuckle.

  
Camael **(Chris Hemsworth)** marched out of his room, wearing khaki shorts and a tight gray tank top, smoky gray wings sticking out behind him. He took control over the goup, as always. “Alright, boys, it’s time to head upstairs. Remember, tonight Crowley said we had-” The biggest dancer was interrupted as a shriek came from Michael and Lucifer’s room. Raphael immediately ran next door, and there was silence for a few seconds. Then they could hear Raphael’s “Ehehehehe!” reverberate down the hall, and Gabriel waltzed out of the room, wearing a shit-eating grin.

  
“GABRIEL!” Lucifer roared, storming out after him. Castiel sucked in a breath as he saw Lucifer’s coal-black wings now streaked with hot pink. He heard snickers as Raguel **(Orlando Bloom)** poked his shaggy head out next to Haniel’s, and little Ariel **(Nicholas Hoult)** had emerged from his and Azrael’s room and was bent over his knees laughing, black and white wings askew.

  
Uriel **(Tom Felton)** walked out of his room, black leather jacket open and snow white wings peeking out the bottom. “We’re gonna be late guys.” he sighed, making a face at Michael trying to hold Lucifer back from taking a swing at Gabriel.

  
“He’s right, guys- we need to go. Save this for later.” Castiel said, following the trail of dancers going towards the spiral stairs at the opposite end of the hall. He head Lucifer growl some final curses at Gabriel, promising to get back at him, before running into his room to grab a spare set of wings. Raziel came up behind Castiel, still grinning, his hair sticking up more than ever above the red wings he wore.

  
“Your roommate is something else.” he chuckled, shaking his head. Castiel simply nodded his head in response, a grin twitching at the corners of his lips. He certainly was something. But Castiel wouldn’t give up this family for anything.

* * *

 

Dean shifted in his seat, looking around, wondering why the hell they were here then. “Dude- this is a chicks’ strip club. Or a gay strip club.” he hissed. Neither of which he wanted to be in. This was not what he had been expecting.

 

“Dude, I realized.” Sam whispered back, shrugging back on his coat, ready to leave. He hadn’t even wanted to come to a regular strip club, let alone one where the strippers were male. Do whatever you want with your life, that’s cool, but he did not need to see it.

  
The boys jumped a foot in the air as a hand clamped down on each of their shoulders, pressing them back down in their seats. “Boys, please, stay a little while.” Crowley leaned into their peripheral vision, grinning down at them.

  
Dean chuckled nervously, a smile half on his face. “Listen- we didn’t know that this wasn’t a normal strip club. We were only supposed to be checkin’ this out for Bobby.” he said, hands in the air, looking at Sam to help him. Sam gave him a wide-eyed look, one that clearly said, _Dude you’re on your own_. Dean sent him one back that said, _Screw you_.

  
“Well, I did tell you that our dancers aren’t what’s to be expected, didn’t I?” Crowley retorted, a glint in his eye.

  
Swallowing, Dean responded, “Well, yea, but-” Hey, he’s not the one who’s going to law school. He gave Sam a subtle kick, which was only returned harder.

  
“No, no, the show’s about to start. Leaving now would just be rude.” Crowley said, lifting a hand off Sam’s shoulder to gesture up to the stage. He gave Dean’s shoulder one last hard squeeze. “Stay. I insist.” Then he was gone in the ever growing crowd.

  
“Dude, what the hell?” Dean breathed incredulously. This was officially the weirdest night of his life. Okay… second weirdest, after Rhonda Hurley. Just because he had kind of enjoyed it didn’t mean it should be a regular thing. Well… make that third place. That one time he snuck into Comic-con….

  
“I don’t know.” Sam answered, a shocked look never leaving his face. He was trying to mentally prepare himself for what he was about to see, though he wasn’t sure how exactly one prepares oneself for a gay strip show. He didn’t have very much time as a curtain across the very back of the stage started to roll across to the side, and a cheer went up from the crowd.

  
Up on stage, five men stood in a row, all in ridiculously short shorts. Three had shirts or jackets (which Sam could see weren’t buttoned up in the front), and two just had something around their neck (one had a bow tie, the other had a white shirt collar). They stood with their backs to the audience, and each one had a pair of wings on their back, each set a different color, though some were covered by the shirts and just poked out the bottom. They wore no shoes, and Sam couldn’t see any sort of jewelry or glitter that he had expected from male strippers. They were all young, lithe, and fit. They stood perfectly still until the beginning beats started to pound out of the hidden speakers.

  
It was some sort of new-age electronic music, and Dean didn’t like it. What was the point of machines making weird, grating noises when you had things like guitars and drums? It did have a strong beat, which is why they used it for shows, he supposed. The left-most, right-most, and middle men (all wearing shirts) spun around and immediately went to the poles. They muscled their way up and down the shiny metal, doing gravity-defying spins and hangs, muscles making themselves apparent. Dean was almost hypnotized, watching these guys maneuver inhumanly around the small pole, throwing body parts around and twirling at the speed of light. He’d never seen pole dancing this good, male or female. He had to give it to the guys- they were talented.

  
Sam, meanwhile, was focused on the two males in front of the poles, who were currently working the females at the edge of the stage. They ground against each other and the air, bodies moving fluently and quickly, making them look like some sort of mirage. They danced and bounced around the stage and up and down the runway, and Sam had to admit, he was impressed. Some females couldn’t work a stage that well, and these guys obviously were doing amazing, considering the amount of cash already on the ground beneath them.

  
Three songs later, the techno mix was over, and the five guys did final strutting up and down the stage, collecting last minute money and sweeping up the previous “donations”. The three that had shirts on tore them off theatrically, earning a few more screams and thrown bills. With large smiles and sly waves, they danced off the stage back behind the curtain. The screams from the crowd dissolved into murmurs and giggles, and people quickly got up to get more drinks from the bar or over to the atm to get more cash.

The brothers turned to each other, mouths hanging open, unsure of what to say. Dean was the first to find his voice. “What the hell did I just watch?”

  
Sam laughed once, mouth still open. He shrugged, a disbelieving grin on his face. “I have no clue. But I gotta admit, they were pretty damn good.”

  
Dean nodded slowly, eyes going back to the empty stage. “Yea, they were.” he agreed gruffly, tapping the arm of his chair. “Do you think that’s it, or is there more?” he wondered, definitely not too curiously.

  
Blowing a breath out through his lips, Sam said, “I dunno. You’d think they’d have more dancers, but this place hasn’t exactly conformed to the norm.” Dean grunted in agreement. He opened his mouth to muse further when lights on the stage began flashing in beat to another techno song, and everyone in the club hushed down and ran back to their seats.

  
Five new dancers appeared from behind the curtain, each dressed similarly to the last group. This time, two had something on up top, and three didn’t. There were yet more different wings and neck accessories, and no shoes. As the song sped up and intensified, the three shirtless men jumped up on the poles and began to work them just as well as the last group. They managed to make it look completely different and new and amazing, yet Sam was certain they used the same moves. Either way, if Sam had to be honest, they all deserved the wads of bills being chucked up at them.

  
Up front on the runway, the two clothed men were in the process of removing their clothes as slowly as possible, with as much swiveling and grinding as possible. The women closest to the edge of the stage kept jumping up to try and reach them, but the guys just inched away, smirks on their faces. They danced around each other, using various limbs (and teeth) to remove the single piece of clothing. The shirts slowly came off, revealing tanned muscles inch by inch, and yes, Dean was allowed to stare, because let’s be honest here, this was an amazing strip show, even if it was a different gender than he was used to. Credit where credit is due, and all that. Once the shirts were off they got creative, starting to strip the bottoms, too, but stopping before anything could be seen. The women below were shouting at them, and tossing money like no tomorrow.

  
And again, after three more songs, the group gathered up their clothing and money and pranced off the stage. This time almost everyone in the room got up to get more bills and drinks, chattering up a storm. “I need another drink.” Dean muttered, getting up and pushing his way through to the bar. Balthazar was still there, mixing up fruity drinks and martinis for all of the girls surrounding the counter, occasionally sending winks and smiles to them. As he saw Dean approaching, he smiled brightly and immediately grabbed two beers.

  
“How’re you enjoying the show?” he questioned, opening them deftly and sliding them across the counter, turning towards a blender on his right.

  
Dean grinned, shaking his head. “I’ll be damned, but I’m actually having a good time. I gotta give it to the guys- they’re damned talented.” he admitted, taking a swig of his beer.

  
Balthazar laughed, handing a pink drink to a well-dressed business woman. “I thought so. Not what you expected, but something you like. It happens more often than you’d think. And,” he said, holding up a finger as Dean took a step away, “the main event hasn’t even happened yet.”

  
Dean raised an eyebrow, and Balthazar sent him a devious smirk before turning away to flirt with more customers. He stood there for a second, slightly confused, before attempting to shrug it off and walk back to Sam. Handing him his beer, he threw himself back in his chair, taking a deep drink. “According to Balthy over there, the “main event” has yet to come.” he announced.

  
Sam raised his eyebrows, taking a drink. “Oh really? Can’t wait.” he said, only being half sarcastic. If that wasn’t even the main event, what else could the angelic dancers produce?

  
“Ladies and gentlemen, for the last on-stage performance, please welcome Uriel, Raziel, Lucifer, and Castiel.” Crowley announced, each dancer coming on to the stage as their name was called. Bright white wings, red wings, and two sets of black wings could be seen as the dancers walked on. The one in the trench coat- Castiel, apparently- brought up the rear. Dean’s eyes locked onto him. Sure, all of the dancers were handsome, but in Dean’s opinion, this guy got the award for the night. His dark tousled hair and bright blue eyes were visible from back here, and Dean found himself actually interested in what was under that trench coat.  
Another song started, but this time it was slower, less base-filled, more… spacey. The four on stage started to dance, and damn if Dean didn’t start in his chair. Castiel and the smaller blonde one- Uriel?- stepped up to the runway and started to take off their coverings, just as slow and sensual as the last groups had been. But the last groups didn’t have this level of grace and talent, and they literally moved like something from out of this world. Dean couldn’t take his eyes off of the trench-coated dancer, who moved as if he was made of water or light.

  
Sam watched as Lucifer and Raziel took to the poles, one on either side of the stage. If he had thought that last ones had been talented, then these were gifted geniuses with god-given skills. They seemed to barely grip the pole, and they spun and flashed around it like birds in flight, limbs out and in, heads up and down. He watched in amazement the entire time, mouth slightly open, wondering how that was even human.

  
These four songs seemed to go by much quicker than the other sets. Dean glanced appreciatively once again over Castiel’s body as he bent over collecting money, giving it a quick mental nod of approval. He was fit for a nerdy looking dude in a trench coat. Sam looked over to Dean, mouth forming words that didn’t seem to fit. “That was… unbelievable.” he finally said, throwing his hands up in the air.

  
“I’ll say.” Dean replied, eyes going to Sam as the stage lights dimmed. “This club might not be so bad.” He grinned evilly as a thought came to him. “We should still tell Bobby to come, just to see what he does.” He sure as hell knew the old grouch wouldn’t take it as well as they had. He didn’t appreciate things like this. He liked beer, guns, and cars, and that was about it.

  
Sam laughed, throwing his head back. “That would be terrible. But hilarious.”

  
“Alright ladies and gents, now comes the floor time. Remember, no touching, and private rooms are to be discussed with the dancers only. Enjoy the rest of your night.” Dean glanced down at Sam’s watch as Crowley’s accented voice came out over them, surprised that it was already almost eleven. They had spent an hour just sitting there, watching the dancers. He hoped that didn’t say anything about their subconscious or anything.

  
Sam look confusedly around, wondering what was happening now. There was nothing on the stage, but people were still milling around with money and drinks. What does floor time mean, anyway? He looked back at the stage, and over near the right-hand corner of the stage, he could see all of the dancers filing down a set of stairs, beginning to walk among the customers. Oh…. The angel strippers were currently walking through the crowd, beginning lap dances, personally strip teases, and in some cases leading women up the stairs, no doubt to one of the “private rooms”.

  
“Ah, shit.” Dean cursed as he saw one of the strippers walking their way. He was tall, with bright blue eyes and Sam-length light brown hair. He was wearing a dark blue (open) button down shirt white shorts, so at least he was clothed. He stopped before them, giving them a bright smile.

  
“Hey, I’m Haniel.” he introduced himself. “I’ve never seen you guys here before- first time?”

  
Sam nodded. “Yea… to be honest we weren’t even supposed to be here.” he replied.

  
Haniel nodded like he understood. “Right. So you guys are together, right? It’s always good to see a couple in h-”

  
“Dude, we’re brothers!” Dean cut him off, feeling a bit nauseous. Why does everyone think that?

  
Looking surprised, the dancer let out an “Oh.” Then, for some unknown reason, comprehension seemed to dawn on his face. “Oh.” He gave another smile, this one more tricky looking than the last, and nodded at them. “I see. Well enjoy the rest of your night. Hopefully we’ll see you again.” He walked a few tables down before a clean-cut guy flagged him down, putting a bunch of bills in the waistband of his pants. The boys looked away before it could get up close and personal.

  
“I don’t know about you, but I’m ready to leave.” Dean muttered. “This place is creepy.”

  
“Uh, yeah.” Sam agreed, standing up.

  
As they stood up to heads towards the exit, Crowley appeared suddenly in their way. Dean jumped, cursing. How was this guy seemingly everywhere? “Boys, one thing before you go. My office?” he stated, gesturing to lead the way towards the stairs. Dean looked at Sam, an annoyed expression on his face. Sam shrugged, widening his eyes. Rolling his, Dean turned back to Crowley, sending him a tight-lipped smile. Doing an about-face he trudged towards the spiral staircase, occasionally having to bend and twist to avoid the unseemly behavior going on in some of the chairs. These strippers obviously were masters of the trade. He was starting to get a headache from all of the creepiness and weird techno music.

  
As they climbed the stairs, the pumping music became a bit quieter. As they walked down the hallway to Crowley’s office, Dean could hear giggles and assorted thumps from at least three of the private rooms. He turned his head away, making a face. Luckily the cluttered office seemed to be soundproof, as all was silent as they walked in and shut the door. Taking their seats from earlier, they stared at Crowley expectantly. He took his time in pouring himself another glass of alcohol, sitting down, and staring at the boys.

  
He took a breath before talking. “The club opens at ten, stage performances go until eleven. The dancers work the floor until two. The club officially closes at three, and in the last hour we give just a few last dances and floor chances before kicking the drunken mob out. Dressing rooms are in the basement, quite plain I’m afraid. Private rooms and my office are upstairs as you can see, and we don’t serve food, so there’s no kitchen or anything of the sort.” He paused to breath, giving the boys a chance to let the knowledge sink in. “Balthazar is our bar tender- I’m sure you’ve already met him- though he’s been known to do some dancing of his own back there occasionally. Hellhound- you I know you’ve already met- is the security and bouncer, making sure nothing gets out of hand. We have fourteen dancers- usually we have sixteen. Obviously our theme is angels and the like, so they’re all given stage names of archangels. Though there are a few that came here with names like that already.” Another breath. Dean and Sam nodded, looking quite confused as to why they were being told this. “I don’t allow any unsavory acts on the floor, and what goes on behind closed doors is not my business, so long as it’s nothing illegal. The base pay isn’t very good, I’m afraid, but what the dancers get in tips more than makes up for it. I, of course, take a small percentage- gotta keep the place running somehow. We’re open every night except Sunday night. All in all I think you’ll find it a more than pleasant club.” He took another breath, and Dean waited wide-eyed for more word vomit, but Crowley leaned back, obviously finished, with a slight smirk- as usual- on his face.

  
There was silence for a moment as the brothers tried to absorb all that had been said. Sam, always having a bit of an edge in that area, was the first one to speak. “Um, wow. It sounds like a well run place. And, no offense, but why are you telling us?” he asked, getting down to the main issue. This guy was just getting stranger and stranger. Dean blew out a breath, thinking the same thing.

  
Crowley huffed a laugh, his smile widening. “Isn’t it obvious?” he said, looking expectantly at the boys. When it became apparent that it wasn’t, Crowley rolled his eyes. “You morons- I want you two to be my two new dancers!”


	3. Say Goodnight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I have found a wonderful beta- 00skyfall on Tumblr, VillainShipper here on A03. She's really awesome and helpful, so hopefully my writing will be better with her here :)
> 
> Still searching for a gif maker, because I would love to have scenes gif-ed at some point. 
> 
> As always, opinions on plots, events, and ships are welcome any time. If you draw any fanart or anything you an send it to me and I'll link it to the story and put it on my Tumblr!

**Here's a new[visual guide](http://itsfnickingawesomeness.tumblr.com/post/57160756478) for the different sets of wings every dancer has :)  
**

**Sorry for the shortness of the chapter, but I've been in Michigan for a week at the Jr Olympics so I've been kinda busy. Not sure when the next chapoter will b, because I'll be on a boat for a week straight next week, then I'm doing GISHWHES the next week, then school starts :/  
**

**Follow me on[Tumblr](http://itsfnickingawesomeness.tumblr.com/) for new chapters, updates, fanart, and visual guides for the story.**

* * *

Dean sat back, face slowly draining of emotion and brow furrowing. ‘ _Did he just….’_ “Wait… what?”

Crowley rolled his eyes, muttering to himself. “Are you two monkeys deaf? I said I wanted you to be my two new dancers! We have two spots open. You are two handsome young men. Perfect fit!” He looked expectantly back at them, setting his tumbler on his knee and linking his fingers together. His x-ray stare was really starting to give Dean the creeps.

“We’ve never… uh… we don’t know how to do… _that_.” Sam stuttered, eyes wide. Why would Crowley even think that they could?

Smirking once again, Crowley picked back up the glass and gestured at them with it. “Look at you- you’re good-looking and strong, you can learn how. From the best!” Sam furrowed his brow, looking down at his lap, seemingly in thought. It’s not like either of them had steady jobs, and to be honest, they had both enjoyed the show tonight in one way or another…. Sam’s wandering musing came to a halt as Dean snorted.

“Wait wait wait, why are we even _discussing_ this?” Dean asked incredulously, leaning forward. “I mean,” he laughed dryly, “ _we_ ,” he gestured to the two of them, “are _not_ strippers.” He made to stand up, putting a hand on Sam’s shoulders. “Come on, we’re done for the night.” He turned and stormed out, a sour feeling in his gut. It wasn’t offensive, really- hell, the guy just offered them a well-paying job basically on looks alone. It just… unsettled him, is all. He wasn’t gay, and dancing every night for gay men and hormonal women didn’t appeal to him. But it didn’t help his tangled thoughts when he thought back on the performance earlier and how talented this guys really were. He twisted his lips, running his hand over his face.

Back in the office, Sam stood up, shooting Crowley an apologetic look as Dean walked out the door. “Look, thanks for the offer and the drinks. You have a really nice club.” He awkwardly waved a little, rolling his eyes as Dean impatiently called his name. Why was he always the one trying to clean up Dean’s rudeness?

As Sam turned and walked out too, Crowley called out, “You’re welcome back any time, boys. The offer still stands!” He sat back in his chair, a smirk playing along his lips as he fiddled with the glass in his hands. Sam could feel his eyes on his back all the way out the door.

Dean stood waiting in the hallway, leaning against the wall, a scowl on his face. “I can’t believe that guy. Why would we want to be strippers? It’s not a real job….” he grumbled as they started walking down the hallway, shoving his hands in his pockets. He had seen Sam thinking about it, and he’ll be damned if he starts thinking about it too. No matter which issue he came up with against accepting the offer, there was always a taunting voice in the back of his mind, saying things like ‘ _You’d be good at it,’_ and _‘You liked the show, didn’t you?’_ It was enough to irritate him beyond belief.

Sam, meanwhile, was thinking about making it work. They had done stranger things for money when he was growing up. And from what he saw, it was a respectable club, not some skeezy joint. There must be rules and stuff they could work out to be comfortable. Crowley seemed to want them enough. But from the look on Dean’s face, Sam knew better than to try and discuss it now- he was still heated from Crowley’s offer. They walked in silence, each immersed in his own thoughts.

Halfway down the hallway, they jumped to the side as the door on their right swung open, almost hitting them. A women stepped out, still giggling, almost tripping in her heels. Her skirt was extremely short, a corner of it lifted up and tangled with her skirt. Her bright green underwear was clearly visible. Not that Sam was looking….Her strappy shirt was hanging off a shoulder, and her hair was tangled in the back, She stumbled, almost running into Sam, and he steadied her so she didn’t face plant into the carpet.

The next person through the door was one of the strippers. He had curly dark brown hair, flashing brown eyes, and a pair of blue and black wings dangling from his fingers. “Oh, hello! I’m Raguel.” he greeted, smiling slightly. He had a black button-down shirt on, the buttons undone, over a pair of jean shorts. “Sorry, I already have another customer waiting, but after that….” he shrugged, smile growing wider, looking them both up and down.

Sam’s eyes widened. He had thought prostitution was illegal! After a moment of confusion and slight panic, Crowley’s earlier words came floating back to him- _‘private rooms are to be discussed with the dancers only.’_ He coughed harshly. So it was all ‘hush hush’ if it happened? His willingness to try and make it work here was knocked down a few pegs.

Dean shifted uneasily, giving a little cough. “What? No, no no no… we’re not… I mean… thanks, but… um…” He shook his head, abruptly turning around. “Come on, Sam!” he snapped. Sam shrugged at the dancer, smiling a little as he followed Dean to the stairs. Raguel watched, his brow furrowed slightly, before heading back into the room to clean up the pillows thrown across the room. The women left after slipping two crumpled hundreds into his pocket, a dazed look on her face.

“Geez, everyone in this joint is nuts.” Dean muttered as they spiraled down the stairs. Sam huffed a laugh behind him, already looking out onto the floor. The dancers were still milling among the customers, although it looked like there were a couple missing. ‘ _They’re probably upstairs.’_ Sam though, wrinkling his nose.The bartender was still mixing drinks, and from here Sam could see the bouncer- Hellhound?- lurking in a corner, watching out for trouble-makers. Suddenly, he bumped into Dean (who had stopped walking at the bottom of the stairs), almost falling over the side. “Dude,” he said, poking him.

In front of Dean was the dancer in the trench coat. He had almost run into Dean on his way up the stairs, but had stopped just in time. “Excuse me,” he said, surprising Dean with how deep and gruff his voice was and damn his eyes were _blue_. Dean caught himself spacing out a bit, inwardly shaking himself.

“Uh, sorry.” Dean said. “I’m Dean.” he said, holding out a hand and putting on a smile. Sam raised his eyebrow as he watched the exchange. The dancer just tilted his head to the side, a slight squint in between his eyes, staring at him. Dean withdrew his hand, clearing his throat and shifting. Sam poked him again, harder, still stuck on the small staircase.

“My name is Castiel.” the dancer finally replied, nodding slightly. “Now if you’ll excuse me….” he murmured, not taking his eyes off Dean as he moved towards the stairs. Sam pressed his back against the railing as Castiel brushed past him, almost falling over yet again.

“Dude, what gives?” Sam hissed as he was finally allowed to step down off the stairs. Dean had had that _look_ on his face, one that usually ended up with Sam hanging a sock on the door and sitting outside the hotel room for an hour or two.

Dean looked back at him, brow furrowed. “What?”

“Why’d you just freeze up like that? I almost fell off the stairs.” Sam complained, his shoulders brushing up against others’ as they made their way towards the door.

“I did not _freeze up_.” Dean retorted. “The guy was in my way, I stopped, we talked, end of story. Isn’t that what people normally do?” And if the guy happened to be pretty good-looking and an amazing dancer, then so what? He could talk to who he wanted to, couldn’t he?

Sam glanced down at him, one eyebrow raised. “Normal people don’t introduce themselves to a stripper like that, Dean. If I didn’t know any better….” he shook his head, the idea surfacing in his mind making him want to make fun of Dean even more.

Dean stopped again, turning to face Sam. “If you didn’t know any better _what_?” he demanded, frowning at him. Suspicion and annoyance were easily visible on his face.

Sam blew a breath out, shrugging, a small grin playing along the edges of his mouth. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were trying to flirt with him.” he answered, lips twitching as his smile became more pronounced.

Dean stared at him for a second before glaring, shaking his head, and turning back towards the door. “I was not flirting with him- he’s a male stripper for god’s sake. I was just being nice.” He almost ran into the guy, so he might as well try and shake his hand and talk to him. Sam was just messing around, as usual.

“Well you weren’t nice to the other two strippers that we’ve met.” Sam pointed out helpfully, flinching as Hellhound appeared out of nowhere to open the door for them. He tried to remember the strippers’ strange names. “I mean, with Haniel you were just kinda rude,” he added, ignoring Dean’s indignant face, “and with Raguel you looked like a deer in headlights.”

As they crossed the dark and abandoned street, Dean _psh_ ed, taking out the keys to his baby. “I was not a deer in headlights. It’s just… strange, is all, having another guy hit on you.” he explained, sliding into the car. He’s had that happen before, _plenty_ of times. It never failed to make him uncomfortable.

Getting in the car, Sam chuckled. “I dunno Dean, you looked pretty spooked to me. And I know what your flirting smile looks like. I’ve seen you use it hundreds of times on girls, and you definitely tried it on Castiel.” he said firmly. He grinned smugly at the dawning of confusion and surprise that washed over Dean’s face. He could almost hear the panicked thoughts inside his brother’s head.

Dean was rigidly reviewing the interaction. Well shit- did he use the same smile on Castiel? If he did, it was definitely unconsciously. Definitely. He doesn’t swing that way. Nope, he likes boobs as much as the next guy. And a nice butt. Although, if he had to guess, it looked like Castiel had a ni- _how about no._ He sharply cleared his throat.

“So, Sammy, did you find any stripper boys to your liking?” he asked, deftly changing the subject as the engine roared to life, coaxing a small smile onto his face.

Sam turned towards him, sporting one of his famous bitch-face. “Yes, Dean, I met a male stripper tonight and he made me forget all about Jess.” He rolled his eyes, turning back to look out the window as the lit-up city buildings _whoosh_ ed past. “We’ll be as happy together as you and Castiel.” he mumbled after a second, a small smile coming onto his face as Dean glared at him.

“Shut up!”

 

* * *

 

“Hey, guys! Crowley wants to talk to all of us before we leave tonight!” Camael called down the hall, pulling his t-shirt over his golden hair. A few groans could be heard from the dressing rooms as the dancers gathered their clothes and bags, all of them wanting to go home.

In Gabriel and Castiel’s room, Gabriel dramatically slumped into his chair and moaned loudly. “All I want is to go home and eat and sleep!” he wailed, kicking childishly at his bag of clothes on the floor. A small grin played on Castiel’s lips as he pulled on his sweater. His bag was already sitting at the door, costume and wings packed inside. He had been hoping to get home a bit early tonight, but obviously that wasn’t happening.

“Come, Gabriel. The quicker we go, the quicker we can leave.” he intoned, stooping down to grab his bag on the way out the door. He heard Gabriel heave a sigh and follow him, albeit slowly. Out in the hall he could see the other dancers slowly leaving their rooms, heading down the stairs. He fell in step next to Ariel, who was normally always with Azrael.

Ariel glanced up at him, a small grin already on his face. “Azrael was taking too long to leave.” he explained, seeing Castiel’s confused expression. “Besides, he’s in a bad mood. Dunno who pissed in his cereal….” They both chuckled, knowing Azrael was famous for his somewhat-dangerous mood swings. Looking down, Castiel could see a black and white tip of Ariel’s wings sticking out of his bag.

“I don’t even know what this meeting is going to be about. We didn’t have any fights or problems. It was a good night!” Michael complained as he came up behind them. He was dragging his dark brown wings behind him, his mouth thinned in annoyance. “I swear, that Scottish bastard just loves to keep us here when we don’t have to be.”

“Michael, just shut up! No one wants to be here, so just quit your bitching.” Azrael shouted from the back of the group. Michael clenched his jaw, but didn’t say anything else as he sped forward towards the stairs. Castiel listened silently, a frown furrowing his brow. Ever since Metatron and Sandalphon had been murdered, all of the dancers and been more touchy and on edge. It was understandable, but regrettable. Tensions were too high between the dancers.

As they all trooped down the stairs, they saw even Balthazar and Hound were sitting with Crowley at a table. The dancers filled in seats around them, forming a large circle. Once they were all seated- and Gabriel and Lucifer stopped poking and pushing each other- Crowley stood up. “Hello, boys.” Various greetings were mumbled. “So, as some of you knew- though apparently not _all_ of you-” he began, shooting a look at Camael, who rolled his eyes, “we had two special guests tonight.” Jophiel and Haniel began muttering to one another, while Raguel was rapidly whispering to Uriel. Grudging curiosity was swelling throughout the group.

As Castiel watched Crowley gesture for silence, he narrowed his eyes in thought. Two special guests… he didn’t see anyone unusual tonight, mostly just the regulars. Unless…. “They were two boys, brothers. One was about moose size, though I actually think he was the younger.” Crowley shook his head once, smirking. Castiel’s eyes widened, surprise shooting through his system. So the guys he ran into on the steps _were_ Crowley’s “guests”. Why were they special? They looked like regular patrons, although coming with your brother was unusual, he supposed.

“Anyway, I offered them the two open spots.” Crowley announced without preamble, interrupting Castiel’s meandering thoughts. The small group erupted. People were loudly muttering amongst themselves, some were even shouting above the din. “Have they ever even preformed before? I mean, we don’t even know who these guys _are_!” Zadkiel’s voice rose above the rest, and the other dancers simmered down. Zadkiel stood up, his brown hair glinting blonde in the dim lights. “Come on, we all worked our asses off before even showing up, and now they’re just going to come in here with us?”

“Hey, he didn’t say that they accepted the offer!” Jophiel called out from his seat. Various agreements and disagreements broke out again, and Crowley paced in the middle of them, looking amused as he rolled his ever-present tumbler of scotch in his right hand. Castiel stayed silent, looking down, just thinking.

The two brothers were definitely good looking enough, and they looked strong enough to become good dancers. But it sounded like they had never danced before, and judging from the angry whispers all around him, that was a major problem. Before they were allowed to preform here, they all had to go through a difficult audition and rigorous training to meet Crowley’s standard of quality. It had been extremely hard and tiring, but they were all the better for it. Somehow he didn’t think that the two had accepted the job. Although, the one who had introduced himself to Castiel- Dean- was someone that Castiel found he wouldn’t mind dancing with. But, first of all, “Did they accept?” he called. The other dancers fell silent, wanting to hear the answer.

Crowley paused, turning to face him. “Well, not as of yet. But there is no doubt in my mind that I have found our next two dancers.” Castiel narrowed his eyes, but Uriel voiced his question before he could.

“How do you know that they’ll accept it? From what others were telling me, they were… uncomfortable with the ones of us that they met.” His sharp British accent cut across the group, and his arms were crossed expectantly, one blonde eyebrow raised.

Crowley sighed, barely suppressing an eye roll. “Because I know people. I can read them, I can manipulate them. How do you think I crawled so high in the business world?” That earned a few chuckles. “Dean and Sam may not know it yet, but they were amazed at what they saw tonight. And this was just a regular show! It’ll bring them back, again and again, until they realize that they do want to do it. In fact, I’d bet my life that one- or even both of them- are as… _sexually fluent_ as you lot.” he finished with a snicker. There were a few more chuckles, and the angry mutterings had mostly died down. “Once they accept, they’ll go through the same training that you did. Hell, I’ll even get a couple of you to train them. Fair is fair is fair. Anything else?” Crowley glanced over the group, eyebrows raised. “Well, if there are no more questions, you lot can go. See you tomorrow, boys.” With that he turned around and jogged up the stairs, most likely going to gather his belongings before leaving.

The dancers stood up, talking quietly amongst themselves again. Castiel caught snatches of their conversations, though, and they were mostly about the Winchesters. Some, like Raphael and Haniel (who were known for being some of the kindest people here), were musing about when the brothers would be back, and when they would accept. Others- mostly Azrael, Camael, and Zadkiel- were still angry about the “easy ride” the brothers were going to get. Most, though, seemed to be in favor of giving the boys a chance. Castiel was one of them- he was excited to have new dancers join, and he was excited to see the Winchesters again. Anyone who attracted that much attention from Crowley had to be incredibly interesting, and if the small interaction with Dean had anything to show for Castiel, he would not be disappointed.


	4. Just Another Day in the Life

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, thank you so much to my awesome beta 00skyfall <3
> 
> Still searching for a gif maker, because I would love to have scenes gif-ed at some point.
> 
> Opinions on plots, events, and ships are welcome any time. If you draw any fanart or anything you an send it to me and I'll link it to the story and put it on my Tumblr!

**SORRY THIS TOOK SO LONG D: School and jobs and sports have kept me so busy :(  
**

**ALSO: I have decided that, later on in the story, there will be Samifer. If you're not a fan of the ship I apologize, but I have really come to like it. I'll warn you when it is featured in a chapter. I'm not objeced to throwing in other ships for Sam, however ;)  
**

**Here is a new[visual guide](http://itsfnickingawesomeness.tumblr.com/post/61980033975) for the layout of the club :)  
**

**Follow me on[Tumblr](http://itsfnickingawesomeness.tumblr.com/) for new chapters, updates, fanart, and visual guides for the story.**

* * *

Dean paced around the kitchen, his old staticky radio blaring a Led Zeppelin song as he hummed along. It was around five on a Saturday night, and what was he doing? Making dinner for himself and his kid brother, with no plans for the night. This was definitely not how he imagined his adult life to play out. In his teenage dreamings, there had been a lot more hot women and awesome cars. At least he was eating good food tonight instead of greasy take-out.

 “Son of a bitch!” he cursed as the portable grill, perched on the stove, spat hot grease onto his hand. He stuck his fingers in his mouth, glaring at the offending burger patties sizzling innocently on the charred metal. Turning around, he opened up the tiny fridge, reaching in and grabbing another beer. The chill of it soothed his irritated skin as he snapped the cap off and took a long drink.

He sighed as he looked around at the tiny empty apartment. Sam should be home any minute from class.... Glancing over at the old clock situated on the wall, he sighed again as he saw it had stopped once again, reading 3:38. He'd have to fix that up- it was really getting ridiculous. It seemed like everything was breaking in this place. The kitchen was only about fifty square feet, the radio didn't go louder than sixty decibels, and the hot water ran out after five minutes. But, hey- who was he to complain? It was somewhere- a roof over their head, a (relatively) soft place sleep, and food to eat. It was a lot better than they’d ever had. Besides, with Sam going to Stanford, it was all they could afford.

Dean wiped his hands on his jeans, burger grease sliding on top of the engine grease and motor oil already smeared on them. He had spent the entire day working at Bobby’s garage, throwing around car parts and practically bathing in sweat and car juices. He was itching for a shower, but he was starving, and food always came first. Besides, he was a messy cook, so there was no use in getting cleaned up twice.

Poking the cooking meat, Dean grunted approvingly and lifted them off of the grill and onto the waiting buns. He set the paper plate of food on the table, glancing yet again at the door. He was going to wait two minutes tops before chowing down, Sam or not. You snooze, you lose. Sitting down at the table he sipped his beer, waiting impatiently for Sam to get in so that the food didn’t get cold. Just as he was debating eating _all_ of the burgers- just to teach him a lesson- he heard the familiar sound of Jess’s little Toyota pulling in the driveway.

A few seconds later, the enormous frame of his little brother banged through the front door, still waving at his girlfriend. Throwing his backpack through the doorway to his bedroom- the only bedroom in the apartment- Sam walked into the kitchen, face brightening at the sight of food. “You made burgers? Awesome.” He sat down and took a bite, and then started wolfing it down.

Dean raised his eyebrows before starting his own food. He made a groan of satisfaction at the greasy warmth. “This hits the spot, doesn’t it.” he said through a mouthful of food.

“Chew and swallow, Dean.” Sam reprimanded, earning an eye roll in return. “But yea, it’s really good. Don’t suppose there’s any fruit or veggies to go along with them?” he added hopefully.

“Please, Sam, I’d much rather use my hard-earned money for hamburger meat and alcohol than for gross green stuff.” Dean retorted, scrunching up his face. Sam sighed, but didn’t pursue the subject.

The rest of the meal passed in silence, punctuated by the occasional quip, threat, or appreciative noise (mostly from Dean). After the table was cleared of all food, Dean stood up and headed over to the couch. “Let’s find some Star Trek on TV- I’m sure it’s on somewhere.”

Sam froze at his spot standing next to the table, his eyebrows raised. “It’s a Saturday night, and you don’t have any plans? Who are you, and what have you done with my brother?” he asked, only half joking.

“Ha ha, very funny Sam.” Dean responded scathingly. “I’m just not in the mood. Besides, what is there to do anyway?” Dean plunked down on the ratty couch that doubled as his bed, propping his feet up on the low coffee table (which wobbled dangerously). “We’re banned from the movie theater for sneaking in, we can’t go to most of the bars ‘cause the bikers hate us for pool sharking, and there aren’t any good strip clubs close by.” he continued, ticking them off on his fingers. ‘ _Well…_ ’ There was one good strip club, but he sure as hell wasn’t going back there. ‘ _Not yet, anyway.’_

Sam furrowed his brow, seeming to read his thoughts. “Well, if you wanted to go to a strip club, why not Supernatural?” he offered, settling down next to Dean on the couch. It had seemed like Dean had really liked the performance, more than he was letting on. Sam had seen the lack of tension and the half-cocked smile Dean sported when he was enjoying himself. At least Sam wasn’t afraid to admit that the club had been pretty awesome.

Dean scoffed, throwing a hand in the air defensively. “Dude. We went there two days ago. Even if the show was… not bad, it’s not going to be like an every night thing. Besides, Mr. Creepy Suit Monkey is still there, trying to get us to strip for him. No thanks, I’m good.” He reached over and grabbed the remote, stony countenance signaling that the conversation was over.

            Sam sighed, leaning back into the couch cushions. Something had to be done eventually about that club, although how it would turn out remained to be seen. It had been riding on his mind the entire day, just little bits and pieces of it. The snazzy decorating, the pounding music, the graceful spins of the dancers- it all distracted him and pinched his brain during every class. He wasn’t sure what it said about his inner psyche or whatever (his Psych 105 class didn’t exactly cover gay strip clubs), but he found he was actually interested in working there. Dean had always been afraid of change, whereas Sam was more willing to give things a chance. He stole a glance at Dean- who had calmed down a bit and was now enjoying an old episode of Star Trek- and sighed again, wondering if this was all going to resolve itself anytime soon.

* * *

            Castiel was, as usual, one of the first dancers to arrive at the club. They were supposed to report at 8:30, so that they had enough time to get dressed and stretched and so on. Most of the dancers showed up at 8:45 or 9, and a few- such as Gabriel and Lucifer- usually didn’t show up until 9:30. Crowley either didn’t notice or didn’t care, so long as they were ready by show time.

            Knocking at the metal door, he looked around him as he waited for Hellhound to open it. The street was mostly deserted, except for a homeless man lying unconscious at the other end of the block. It was not an ideal location for a club, but they got enough business just by word of mouth that it made up for the less-than-desirable location. And it was out of the way of interference, which was probably the main reason for Crowley picking it.

            The small window in the door creaked as it swung open, and Hellhound gave a grunt of recognition before shoving the door open. Castiel wasn’t sure if he had ever heard Hellhound say anything; as far as Castiel knew he only grunted and growled. It was… slightly unsettling. He gave a tight lipped smile as he skirted around the bouncer, heading down the spiral staircase to his room.

            He could hear Camael’s booming voice coming from below as he descended the stairs, a questioning tone ringing through it. A quieter, crisper voice answered back, becoming understandable as Castiel entered the small hallway. “You should have seen this woman, Cam. I swear she hadn’t brushed her teeth in days, and I think she had bugs living in her hair. It was _disgusting_.”

Poking his head in Camael’s room, he saw that they were still in their day clothes, just talking. “Hello.” Castiel greeted, giving a small wave. Camael grinned slightly and waved back, while Uriel merely nodded his head, lights glinting off of his pale blonde hair. Uriel was always the one to complain about the less than ideal customers- he had a bit of a germ problem. It was always something with their hair, or their clothes, or even their tipping methods. He was actually incredibly picky about those kinds of things. _‘Not the best thought process for having a job like this.’_

            Moving on, Castiel heard Raphael humming to himself in his room. It was a waltz, probably one of Strauss’s. He smiled when he heard it- Castiel got tired of the pounding music from the club sometimes. He reached his door, pulling out his keychain to unlock it. He placed his bag on the countertop as he walked in, relaxing into a chair with a sigh. Tonight was solo night, meaning each dancer got a song by themselves. It was always more stressful, not having anyone else on stage with you; but it was also thrilling, getting to have the spotlight on you and you only.

            Castiel checked the clock above the door, the red numbers reading 8:45. He had a good hour to get dressed and stretched, so he could take his time. It was one of the reasons he always was here on time- not feeling rushed to get ready and having time to relax before dancing upstairs.  He spent the next forty minutes meticulously stretching, hearing the occasional greeting and conversations as someone else came in for the night. Time ticked away as Castiel finished his ministrations and began changing into his costume. It was a routine that he found relaxed him. Spending some time alone each night gave him some time to think and process and wonder.

            Tonight’s thoughts were on the future of the club. Two dancers had been killed already, and had not been replaced yet. The police hadn’t gotten involved, and the murders went unreported. No one cared about the neighborhood strippers. The routines every night were a little bit off, and the performance parts of the night were little shorter, without Sandalphon and Metatron. Crowley had, apparently, found people to be put in their place, but the only problem was that the brothers were not agreeing to the proposition.

            If he had to be honest, it irked and confused Castiel. The Winchesters obviously lead a rough life, that much was obvious from their ratty clothes and prickly attitudes he’d heard about. The money would be welcome, and he’d seen their faces in the crowd last night- they loved every minute of the show. The offer, in his opinion, was brilliant. Automatic acceptance, no auditions, and previous knowledge of how the club worked. These were things that no other dancer here was offered, no matter how good they were. They should have leapt at the chance. His thoughts turned round and round in circles, chasing after each other like Lucifer chasing after Gabriel after a prank.

As usual, Gabriel was extremely late getting into the room. He waltzed in at exactly 9:24, munching from a bag of skittles. “Heya Cas!” he greeted cheerful, tossing his bag onto the floor and flopping into a chair.

            Castiel’s lips twitched from his seat, unable to hide his fondness at Gabriel’s infectious presence. “Hello, Gabriel.” he replied. “You’re a few minutes early tonight.” he added, a small smirk creeping across his face.

            “Why yes I am. Thank you for noticing!” Gabriel responded, grinning largely, crumpling up the now-empty bag of candy and tossing it into the trashcan. “Did Lucifer beat me here?” His demeanor changed into one of intense focus- apparently this question was of extreme importance.

            Nodding slowly in confusion, Castiel answered, “Yes, he arrived a few minutes ago.” He flinched back slightly as Gabriel swore loudly and kicked his bag. “DAMNIT! We had a bet that I would get here before him tonight. That fucker….” Gabriel mumbled into angry silence, leaving Castiel to wonder why these two dancers insisted on antagonizing each other so much. He supposed there was some sort of amusement to be found, but he personally didn’t see it at all.

After a few more sullen moments, Castiel cleared his throat to get Gabriel’s attention. “You should probably get dressed and ready, you know how Crowley can get.” Gabriel merely made a flippant noise, waving his hand in the air, before stripping off his jacket and shirt to get changed. Castiel sighed, before walking out of the room. It wasn’t that he was uncomfortable around Gabriel changing, but it wasn’t necessary to stay in the room. Besides, he might be caught in another fight between Gabriel and Lucifer.

            He found his way into Raziel and Haniel’s room, where the two were conversing quietly. Castiel knocked before coming in, settling into an empty chair as he greeted them. “So, Cas, we were just talking about Azrael’s haircut. He got it a bit shorter than normal, and it’s really fluffy looking. It fits him a bit, doesn’t it?” Raziel replied, getting immediately to the point.

            Haniel shook his head, his lips a thin line. “I don’t think it looks good at all.” he argued, pointing for emphasis. “When his hair is longer it makes him look more serious, and now it looks like a child’s hair. Don’t you agree, Cas?” Both dancers stared imploringly at Castiel, and he worked to keep a smile off of his face.

            “I, for one, don’t have any opinion on Azrael’s hair. Firstly, I haven’t seen it yet. Secondly, I don’t wish to be on the wrong side of Azrael for gossiping about him.” Castiel pointed out. Sometimes he felt like the only reasonable one in this building.

            “Yea, good point.” Raziel pouted.

            “You’re no fun, Cas.” Haniel added, crossing his arms and tilting back his chair. Raziel’s eyes flicked to the doorway behind Castiel, and half a second later, a shoe was launched straight through it at Haniel’s chest, causing him to fall backwards with a crash. Cas chuckled as Raziel laughed hysterically, and Haniel picked himself up off the floor, sputtering and mumbling. “Who did that?” he asked crossly, glaring out the door.

            There was no answer, but Castiel could hear the tell-tale sound of Gabriel’s giggle all the way down the hallway. Rolling his eyes, Castiel announced, “I believe it was Gabriel that just ran past. You could probably return his shoe by throwing it at his head.” Haneil smirked at that, picking up the show and dashing out the door. A yelp could then be heard, followed by Haniel’s snickers as he raced back into his room.

            “Done and done.” Haniel proclaimed as Raziel continued laughing from the floor. Cas laughed as well, both at Gabriel and Haniel’s little pranks. It was a much better atmosphere than in the days beforehand. A shout could then be heard throughout the lower level.

            “Okay guys, up and at ‘em. Showtime.” As they peeked out from their rooms, Camael herded all of the blabbering and stretching dancers, putting them into the line-up for the night. Castiel slid through the crowd to the front, where he was every night they did solos. He was one of- if not _the_ \- best dancers at the club, according to customers (and Crowley), so he was always opening act or finale. It was flattering, but Castiel didn’t see why it mattered who was better than who.

            As he heard Crowley make his nightly announcement about the club and its rules, Castiel begins making his way up the stairs and towards the stage. The rest of the strippers followed him, filing into a small space behind the stage that served as a hallway. He could hear people whispering and waiting excitedly for the first act, and it made a little thrill of something like pride go through him. If he could choose the most important redeeming quality of working at a strip club, it would be that people still genuinely watch and enjoy what you do, and that it is still a performance, for both the dancer and the crowd. Stepping onto the stage, Castiel paused, waiting.

As the first notes trickled out of the hidden speakers, Castiel stepped up to the pole and pulled himself up, starting his routine. It was one he’d performed many times, and it was one of his favorites to show. The music changed every time depending on the mood Crowley wanted to set for the club- tonight the song was Demons, which he thought an ironic choice for an angelic-themed club. It had both upbeat and slow verses, however, and it was a good tempo to dance to.

He always felt powerful when he danced. Strong, graceful, free…. It was a strange, but elational, feeling that he enjoyed immensely. The harsh training, the battered body, the bad reputation of the job- none of that mattered to Castiel. All that mattered was this- the act, the performance, the show. It was a simple thing, but it made him happy, and he enjoyed every minute of it. It was… hard to explain, even to the other dancers. But that was okay with Castiel, because he didn’t need to explain it. It was his experience, and it didn’t matter if others shared it. Not to him, anyway. Not right now.

He swung and hung from the pole, sliding and pulling, spinning and dropping. It was a heady rush, one that he couldn’t seem to get enough of. He was always somewhat reluctant to step away from the pole and towards the edge of the stage. There he had to finish his act by stripping for the customers, “giving them a proper show” as Crowley calls it.

            As the music finished, he slid to the ground at the edge of the stage. breath heavy, extremely up close and personal with the customers closest to the stage. A few brave ones reached up and tucked twenties and even a few fifties into the waist of his shorts, before falling back and giggling. He sent them a small smile, standing back up, collecting bills as he went. He swept up the last few as Jophiel hopped into view, flashing a dazzling smile to the crowd. “Good luck.” Castiel murmured as he slipped past him. Jophiel winked before walking to the middle of the stage, ready to perform.

            Castiel walked behind the stage, wanting to put away the money before having to go out for “floor time”. He sighed as he turned into his room. It was definitely his least favorite part of the night, and his least favorite part of working as a stripper. He didn’t mind the dancing, but being skin-to-skin with strangers was definitely something he did not particularly look forward to. Castiel was glad, though, that he was not forced to entertain in the private rooms. He had very rarely done so, and every time he did he was reminded just how much he disliked it. Luckily, there were plenty of other dancers willing to make the extra sums of money in the locked rooms upstairs. Uriel, Haniel, Raguel, Azrael, and Camael were the favorites for private sessions.

            Passing by Zadkiel on his way back up the stairs, Castiel ducked behind the stage to sit and wait in the little hallway there. He sat patiently through the other dancers’ acts, dancers leaving and entering the small area as their acts came and went. An hour passed before it was time to walk out among the customers, where they would spend a good three hours. As the ‘angels’ scattered around the room, Castiel grinned to see Balthazar giving his own private show over by the bar. He did that from time to time, whenever he felt like making more than just a few tips.

            A hand caught his thigh and slid upwards as he passed a table. He smiled softly at the bold young girl, taking a step backwards. “Sorry, no touching allowed. Not yet, at least.” The girl grinned back, handing him a folded up hundred. Tucking it into his pocket, Castiel stepped forward again, straddling the girl’s legs. Her friends at the table giggled and cheered as Castiel danced for her, teasing her and allowing small and quick touches. _Well,_ Castiel thought as he ran a hand down the girl’s long brown hair, _it definitely could be worse here._

 


	5. A Day of Confusion

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> IMPORTANT NOTICE READ THIS:  
> In order to force myself to update this story more regularly, I will be setting a biweekly update schedule. This means every other week (probably on a Monday or Tuesday) there will be a new chapter up!
> 
> I also just really wanted to write something fun, so there is some random Samjess smut in this chapter. It has no plot purpose so skip if you'd like.
> 
> Thank you so much to my beta 00skyfall!!! Also, thank you to my muse Anna (capincracker) for giving me ideas and motivation (aka not giving me the password to her internet) to finish this chapter.
> 
> As always, gif makers and all fanart are welcome, as are ideas on ships, plots, and events.

**Here is a[new page](http://www.destiel-lost-some-feathers.tumblr.com/dancers) on my tumblr for info on all of the dancers, including outfits, roommates, etc.  
**

**Follow me on[Tumblr ](http://www.destiel-lost-some-feathers.tumblr.com)for new chapters, updates, fanart, and visual guides for the story.**

* * *

           Dean cracked open another beer, draining half of it on his way out. Grabbing his jacket and keys from the table by the door, he shouldered it open. Bobby scheduled him to work today, but had told him last minute. Apparently, Garth- another guy who works in the shop- couldn’t come in today. ‘Somethin’ ‘bout a fall and a busted melon.’ Bobby had grumbled over the phone less than an hour ago. It was a situation that sounded _exactly_ like Garth. Dean had agreed, obviously- money was money, even if it was his day off. Besides, it’s not like he had anything else to do today. It was becoming a recurring problem, evidently.

            Turning around to lock the door behind him, he almost backed into their neighbor, Andrew, in the narrow hallway. “Oh, my bad, man.” Dean apologized, shoving the key into the lock and turning it. Each floor had five rooms on it, and the complex went up about ten floors. There wasn’t an elevator, and some of the doors didn’t even have locks anymore. The roof was pretty cool, though, and Dean and Sam often went up there to watch the stars. Luckily, they had scored a room with both a lock and that was on the first floor. It might have had something to do with the fact that the fifty year old landlady had a huge and not-so-subtle crush on Dean. He had learned her schedule to avoid her at all costs.

            “It’s all good. You in a hurry?” Andrew asked, leaning against the wall, hands in the pocket of his red hoodie. Dean didn’t know how old Andrew was- probably no older than 19 or 20- and he didn’t know why he was living by himself in the first floor of a sleazy apartment complex. This wasn’t exactly a warm and friendly “bring your neighbor a house-warming casserole” neighborhood. He was a nice enough kid, though Dean was pretty sure he was high fifty percent of the time, from his perpetually-natty hair and constantly “irritated” eyes. He remembered those days….

            “Yea, Bobby called me in. Garth busted his head doing something strange. Again.” Dean chuckled. “Listen, if you see Sam at all, let him know where I went, okay?” Andrew nodded sagely and gave him a little wave, though Dean doubted the message would actually find its way to Sam. He turned and jogged out of the lobby door, jingling his keys in his hand as he went. The drive passed by in a blur of sunny weather and good music, and he pulled into the dusty lot of Singer Auto in no time.

            The original Singer Auto had been in South Dakota, which was a recurring crash site for the traveling dysfunctional John Winchester & Sons. Bobby had been like a second father, and a stand-in father when John started drinking more and leaving longer. The boys owed their survival many times over to Bobby’s care, and that was enough to make him family. When Dean had gleefully called him up to tell him about Sam’s acceptance into Stanford, Bobby had readily agreed to pack up and move with them. It was more than Dean had asked for, but it was also exactly what he had needed. Bobby had found a tiny house with an enormous lot right outside the city and started his junkyard and auto repair ship from scratch, quickly getting a steady business as the cheapest and best auto place around. Now Dean worked for him five days a week, and he or Sam could often be found crashing on his couch in front of the TV.

            Dean hopped out of the Impala, humming Metallica’s Enter Sandman as he unloaded his tools from the trunk. He never quite knew what was waiting for him when he came to work at Bobby’s, so it was always exciting in that sense. It wasn’t exciting, however, that it involved long hours, getting sweaty and greasy all day. He came around the corner of the main garage, grinning as he saw four or five cars waiting for him in his “office”. Also known as a circle of dirt in the middle of all the cars.

            Hard labor was exactly the kind of distraction Dean needed for days like this, when his head was murkier than his dad’s during a booze-binge. He was shoulder deep in an old Chevy pickup truck, a flashlight between his teeth and a wrench in each hand. Sure, he was also up to his elbows in oil and grease, but it wasn’t so bad. At least it was a job he genuinely enjoyed doing. It was simple, too. Car’s broken? Spend an hour or two on it and it won’t be. Dean was a simple guy at heart, who had simple needs and enjoyed simple pleasures. Moral dilemmas, emotions, _thinking_ … he didn’t enjoy those one bit.

            Which is why he was currently so cranky. Here he was, just trying to get some work done and be a normal guy, and these confusing _thoughts_ had to come prancing through his mind every five minutes. Just when he thought he had squashed all remaining points and musings about the club, every few minutes, it snuck back in. It was really starting to irritate him.

            So maybe he was cranking the monkey wrench a little bit too hard on the rusty valve in the engine, and maybe he was a bit too focused on attempting to self-erase his brain, but really, Bobby shouldn’t have snuck up on him like that! As soon as a hand thumped onto his shoulder, Dean spun around, wildly swinging the wrench in his left hand at his attacker’s head. Bobby simple stepped backwards, bracing an arm against Dean’s shoulder to keep him from falling on his face. “Boy, you sure you’re doin’ okay? You’re all sorts of messed up today.” Bobby’s callous words didn’t hide the sliver of real concern in his face. “I’ve been hollerin’ your name for the past ten minutes!”

            Dean sighed through his nose, dropping the two wrenches into the tool box by his feet and taking the flashlight out of his mouth. “Sorry, Bobby. Lot on my mind today.” Dean gave him a small smile, leaning his weight back on his other foot.

            “Obviously!” Bobby retorted, looking Dean over. “I came over to see if you wanted a drink. You’ve been workin’ out here for a while now.” Bobby held out his right hand, which had two beers hanging from his fingertips. Dean took one, snapping the can open with a nod of thanks. Of course, Bobby took the exact moment that Dean started to drink it to ask, “So, how was that strip club the other day?” Dean sputtered and choked, coughing loudly. He had completely forgotten that he was even supposed to report back to Bobby about that.

            Bobby stared at him with a raised eyebrow until he wasn’t suffocating anymore. “Um… yea. It was good. Real snazzy. Nice interior, awesome bar, classy… dancers…. Owner’s a bit of a creep, though.” Dean stumbled his way through the explanation, studiously avoiding eye contact with Bobby.

            Bobby guffawed. “Yup, that’s Crowley, alright. Felt like I could never turn my back on him, or I’d risk getting a fancy blade between my ribs.” Dean chuckled along with him, hoping the conversation would soon be over. He had no such luck, of course. “But there’s somethin’ you’re not telling me.” Bobby added, his face now serious.

            Dean _psh_ ed, waving his hand around. “What would I have to hide about the strip club?” He laughed, though it didn’t sound quite right, even to him. Bobby simply leveled him off with a stare, bushy eyebrows raised and accusing. Dean lasted all about ten seconds before groaning loudly. “Okay, okay. All of the strippers are guys. It’s a gay strip club. Or a chicks’ strip club. Or both.”

            Bobby simply stared at him for a few more seconds, suspicion and confusion warring in his features. He finally turned away, shaking his head before taking a sip of beer. “Always knew Crowley would end up doing something weird.” he grumbled. Dean made a noncommittal grunt, hoping the attention was now off of him again. But, yet again, when does he ever have that kind of luck? “Still doesn’t explain why you’re all spacey and jumpy. Didn’t upset you that much, did it?” Bobby prodded.

            Huffing a sigh, Dean toyed with the rim of his can. “I’m fine, Bobby. Just… in thought, you know. I mean, yea, it was a surprise, but it didn’t end up being so bad, I guess. It really is a nice place.” He cleared his throat sharply. “But, yeah, I’m totally fine. Don’t worry about me.” Bobby’s eyebrows had slowly crept upward through his response, and it was seriously making Dean uncomfortable. Where does Bobby get off on knowing him so well?

            “Boy, I swear, if you don’t come out with the whole story right now, I will march right in there and grab my shotgun, and you goan’ lose a limb.” he threatened. Dean glared at him, before pointedly looking away.

            “Fine. Crowley offered Sam and me jobs there.” Dean burst out. When there was no reaction, Dean turned his head minutely to see what Bobby was doing. He frowned when he saw Bobby shaking with silent laughter. When Bobby saw Dean’s face, he burst out into extremely loud guffaws.

            Through his chuckles, Bobby got out, “That is the damndest thing I’ve ever heard in my life! The Winchester Brothers Pole Dancing Team. Oh god!” Bobby bent over his knees while Dean scowled, crossing his arms.

            “Yea, yea, laugh it up. Real funny. Gave me the creeps. Big time.” Dean raised his voice over Bobby’s laughter, looking away again.

            Slowly Bobby calmed down, a smile still on his face. “Is that what’s got you all bent outta shape? A job offer? Boy, if you don’t want it, don’t take it. If you do, well… I guess I can’t tell you what to do.” he advised, shrugging and taking another drink of beer.

            Dean choked on his beer again, doing a spectacular spit take. “Bobby, I am not taking the damn job! Do I look like a stripper to you?” After a pause filled with Bobby’s dubious staring, Dean snapped, “Don’t answer that.” He kicked at the dirt, snorting a bit through his nose. “I’m not gonna become a stripper just because some greasy dick-monkey says I look pretty enough to be one.” he groused, looking off to the side.

            Bobby sighed, draining the last of his beer. “Look, boy, I’m not tellin’ you what you should or shouldn’t do. I ain’t your dad, an’ I can’t tell you what you can an’ can’t do. Just… do what’s best for you. And your brother.”

            Dean sighed. “Yea, thanks for that Bobby. Real helpful.” It hurt his brain to sit and try to think through this mess. It was obvious that Sam was open to the idea. The kid was too trusting- and a bit naïve- if you asked him. Obviously they would make incredible money, and it really was a well-run club. It’s just… he couldn’t get the notion of being a goddamn _stripper_ out of his mind. He just… couldn’t do it. Not in good faith. He drank the last of his beer, tossing his can to the ground near his tools. He sighed again, looking up at Bobby. “Alright, thanks for the beer. I’m gonna finish up this car now, all that’s left is to replace this one valve over here. Is there anything else after that?” he questioned.

            Bobby peered at him with narrowed eyes, looking like he wanted to say something. Finally, he replied, “Naw, that’s it. Thanks for comin’ in today, Dean.” He gave a nod before walking away, whistling tunelessly as he wandered back through the maze of junked cars. He really worried about that boy sometimes…

            Dean quickly finished up the old truck, grinning when the engine fired up first try. Dumping his toolbox into the trunk of Baby, he motored out on the dirt parking lot, giving a wave as he passed Bobby and his crazy old friend Rufus talking on the front lawn. The drive home took a mere twenty minutes on the highway, and Dean was driving down the block towards the apartment in no time. He was starving and exhausted, and was looking forward to sitting on the couch with a good movie and some greasy takeout.

            Of course, that brought back memories of Sam’s remark a few days ago about Dean never going out anymore, and that lead to memories of the strip club, and _goddamnit_ Dean had had enough of thinking about that fucking club. He pulled into the parking lot, stomping on the brakes roughly when he saw almost-too-late Jess’s Toyota in his spot. He was momentarily confused, before realizing that they were probably in the house right now, taking advantage of his absence.

            He groaned and turned off his car and sat back in the seat, deciding to wait a little while just in case they were still going at it. Which wouldn’t surprise him, actually- those two were known to have _wild_ sex. Unfortunately for him, that meant that he now had time to himself. To think. _‘Awesome.’_

            Dean tried, he really did, but no matter what he thought about- women, cars, meals he wanted to cook- wisps of thought about the club crept back into his brain. He gave up trying to avoid it, angrily hitting his steering wheel. He might as well give in and figure this whole mess out now.
    
    
                Okay, first thing’s first….’ he thought, pressing the heels of his hands into his eyes. ‘Pros and cons.’ Pros would be mad cash, getting to entertain women every night… and, for 
    
    
    some reason, bright blue eyes and a deep raspy voice flashed through his mind. He furrowed his brow, giving his head a small shake. Castiel had nothing to do with him working there. 
    
    
    Cons… well, working under Crowley (who he didn’t trust as far as he could throw him), being known as a stripper... and there wasn't anything else, really. Call it morals or ethics or 
    
    
    even self-preservation, but Dean just couldn't get over the fact of being a stripper. He'd been to plenty of strip clubs and seen plenty of strippers, and he couldn't see himself being 
    
    
    on the other end of that. His thoughts ran around and around in circles, and he groaned aloud when even resorting to thinking didn't help solve his problem.  
    

* * *

            As Jess pulled her car into the parking lot, Sam tilted his head in confusion. The Impala wasn’t there, which meant Dean was out somewhere on his day  
off. Which meant he had the apartment to himself…. He grinned widely, turning towards Jess. “So… Dean’s not home. You doing anything any time soon?” he asked, giving what Dean liked to call his ‘puppy dog face’.

            Jess giggled, deftly turning off the car and tucking the keys away in her purse. “Well now I am.” Sam hurriedly jumped out of the car, winding around to grab Jess as she stepped out of her side. He slid an arm around her waist and half dragged her to the door, making her protest laughingly.

            Unlocking the door took a bit longer than normal, since he wouldn’t unwrap his arm from Jess. Once they were finally inside the small apartment Jess glued herself to him, kissing him heatedly. Their tongues tangled together, and Sam ran a hand through her hair, pressing her face into his. She dropped her hands to his waist, slipping a few fingers a bare inch down his pants. Sam groaned quietly, bringing his arms down to wrap tightly around his girlfriend’s body.

            Sam dropped his head, burrowing into Jess’s neck. He kissed from her shoulder up to her jaw and back down again, giving her earlobe a small bite on the way up. Returning to where her neck met her shoulder, he kissed there repeatedly, running a tongue along the soft skin. He nipped and sucked, a red spot quickly forming. Jess slipped a hand underneath his shirt, tracing teasing patterns along his abs and chest. She made fluttery, breathy noises at the hickey he was giving her, and he could feel the heat burning through his stomach. Jess grabbed his chin and brought his head back up, licking along his mouth before shoving her tongue back in. He eagerly sucked, teeth grazing against her lip.

            “Hey.” Jess said breathlessly, breaking apart the kiss quickly. “Bedroom. Go.” She grinned devilishly, eyes sparking, and Sam all but ran after her into his small room. They fell onto the bed in a tangle, Sam hovering over her. He immediately reached down and pulled her shirt up and over her head, her bra quickly following. Jess swiftly unbuttoned Sam’s plaid shirt and threw it across the room. They barely broke contact, tongues and lips hungrily moving and crushing against each other’s.

            Jess slid her hand down Sam’s torso, eliciting a soft moan from him, and went down to his half-hard dick. She ghosted her hand across it before taking it away, a noise of protest sounding from Sam. Her giggle turned into a gasp as Sam’s hand crept up and kneaded her breast, thumb just barely brushing her nipple. He leaned back and grinned teasingly, reaching up and tracing a hand down her flushed cheeks. Quickly, she turned and caught one of his fingers in her mouth, giving it a quick nip. His cock throbbed, and he moaned before grabbing her head and crushing his lips to hers again.

            Grinding his hips into Jess’s, Sam reached down with one hand and started tugging off her jeans. She immediately helped, wriggling out of them far quicker that he would have thought possible. His hand then crept lower, slowly tracing back and forth between her thighs. She moaned deeply, hips rolling in time with Sam’s. He quickly dragged down the hem of her panties, sending them down to her knees. Sliding down a bit, he took her nipple in his mouth, simultaneously sliding a finger into her, giving it a little twist. She cried out, her back arching slightly. Sam continued to finger her, turning and crooking his finger every so often. Every new movement brought a new sound out of Jess, and Sam was already achingly hard.

            He sat up on his knees, quickly unbuttoning his jeans and shucking them off.  He leaned down and kissed her as he finally pushed into her, letting out a groan at the feeling. Jess brought her legs up and wrapped them around his waist, rolling her hips into his, the friction causing them both to breathe even harder and hold each other tighter. Sam began thrusting, a steady rhythm at first. He could feel nails raking down his back, and his hands were gripping her hips hard enough to leave bruises, but neither one of them cared. They were both moaning loudly, and his old bed squeaked in protest. Sam began thrusting faster and harder, the fire in his stomach burning hot. Their kissed became fiercer and sloppier, filled with heavy breathing and bruising lips.

            Jess was the first to orgasm, her head thrown back and legs tightening around Sam’s waist. The sudden clench around his cock combined with Jess’s high-pitched wail drove him crazy, and he gave a few last violent thrusts before he came too. His vision flashed white and red, and he moaned so loudly that their entire floor had probably heard. 

            Breathing heavily, Sam pulled out, dropping to lay down next to her on the bed. They both wore bright grins on their faces, and Jess ran a hand lazily through Sam’s hair. Their legs tangled together, and Sam slid his arms around her to tug her closer. She laid her head on his shoulder and sighed contentedly, idly drifting her hand up and down his arm and chest. Sam’s eyes drifted shut, his nose buried in Jess’s hair, which smelled like melon. “I never get tired of this.” Jess murmured. Sam snorted a soft laugh, dropping a kiss to the top of her head.

            “Me either, Jess.”

* * *

 

               Dean heaved himself out of the car and trudged towards the door. Of course, now all that was on his mind was going back to the club and watching another performance. Which was totally not an option. He had more dignity and self-control than that. Plus he didn't want to encourage Crowley any more. He banged open the door, making it hit the wall loudly so that Sam and Jess knew he was here. Hey, he's nothing if not courteous. He heard a grunt from Sam's closed door, so at least they were done. At least, he hoped so. Leaning down to grab a bottle of beer from the fridge, Dean called out, "Hey, I'm just gonna go get some Thai takeout from down the street. You guys want anything?"

               "The usual." Sam responded groggily.

               "I'll eat whatever." Jess yelled, sounding slightly more coherent.

               Dean leaned against the counter, his lips turning up at the scene. They were the definition of a happy couple, and Dean wouldn't be surprised if he was a best man at a wedding at some point in the near future. He'd be damn proud of it, too. Sam deserved to be happy at some point in this miserable life they'd been stuck with, and Jess was exactly what the doctor ordered. He was happy for his brother, though in his lower moods (or drunken ones) he was a bit jealous. Sam has it so much better than he did, but it was the only way Dean would want it. He wouldn’t allow Sam to deal with the shit Dean has his entire life- if that meant shouldering it all and sucking it up, then it was more than worth it.

               "Hey, Dean?" Sam and Jess came out of his room, both looking tired and sexed up. Jess was definitely wearing a pair of Sam’s shorts, ‘cause they were a hundred sizes too big, and Sam’s shirt looked like it had been dragged behind a truck for two miles. Dean rolled his eyes, shaking his head as he took a swig of beer. "Jess wants to see the club with us some time."

            For the third goddamn time today, Dean choked on his beer. Maybe Fate was trying to tell him something. As he coughed and spluttered noisily, Jess and Sam looked on, slightly concerned expressions on their faces. As soon as he could breathe again, Dean took a deep one, shaking his head slightly. “Sorry- what?” he shot at them.

            Sam’s lips twitched, and he slowly responded, “Jess. Wants to see. The club. With Us.”

            “Yea, that’s what I thought you said.” Dean muttered, rubbing the back of his neck. “Look, Sam, I don’t think we should go back there. You know what Crowley wants- it’ll only encourage him.” he explained.

            Jess piped up from where she was glued to Sam. “I heard about Crowley’s offer. I wouldn’t freak out about it, Dean. I mean, I don’t know if it’s a good idea or not- it’s all up to you, I guess- but it’s nothing to get your panties in a twist.” she counseled, a small smirk on her face by the end.

            “You told her?” Dean demanded Sam, and he was sure his ears were bright red. Damnit.

            Sam scoffed. “It’s the most interesting thing to happen to us in a while, Dean, of course I’m gonna tell her.” he snarked, a hand running up and down Jess’s left arm. Dean rolled his eyes, already getting sick of the love-fest. “I’m serious, Dean, I think you’re over-reacting. The least we could do is go back and check it out again. Don’t even try to deny that you enjo-”

            “So help me if you finish that sentence I will kick your ass into next Tuesday.” Dean snapped, plunking down into one of the mismatched kitchen table’s chairs. He sulkily drank his beer, trying to think of an argument. Sadly, his previously highly-hyperactive brain seemed to be on vacation at the moment. Typical. He glanced at the couple waiting his reply, before groaning and dropping his beer onto the table. “Ugh. Fine. _Fine,_ goddamnit. We’ll go after dinner.” He ignored the snickers and grins in favor of heading right back out the door to go get food. No, he did not want to go back to that club, and _hell_ to the no he was not slightly anxious about what might happen there. Nope. Not at all.


	6. There and Back Again

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Reminder that this story now updates every other week, usually on a Monday or Tuesday.
> 
> Many thanks again to my lovely beta 00Skyfall <3
> 
> As always, gif makers and all fanart are welcome, as are ideas on ships, plots, and events.

     **Follow me on[Tumblr](http://destiellostsomefeathers.tumblr.com) for new chapters, updates, fanart, and visual guides for the story.**         

* * *

            Sometimes Dean wondered how his life ended up like this. Sam and Jess were both in the backseat of the Impala- doing only God knows what- while he was driving them all to a strip club. A gay strip club. On a Monday night. One at which they were being offered a job. He ran a hand down his face, trying not to think too deeply about his current situation for fear it might give him a complex. “Wait- don’t you guys have class tomorrow?” Dean suddenly remembered. _‘Maybe this could be my way out….’_

            “Not ‘til noon.” Jess chirped, her hands presently roaming over Sam’s chest. _‘Well, crap.’_

            Dean huffed and rolled his eyes. “Whatever. Hey- no funny business back there, or else _you’re_ cleaning the car up.” Sam pulled a bitch-face in response, hand snaking around Jess and leaning them back against the seat. Dean could say or think whatever he liked, but Sam could see that Dean was actually nervous about going back here. It made him suspicious of Dean’s thoughts, and wished that he could have mind reading abilities or something. Or a less emotionally-constipated brother. Either one would work.

            The drive took half an hour, enough time for Dean to consider turning back around at least a dozen times. But once he reached the inner city, he knew there was no going back. Besides, he wasn’t completely sure that Sam wouldn’t just bodily throw him in the trunk and take over driving. That kid was scary when he was determined.

            It took a few minutes to find the correct dirty, sketchy, and run-down street where the club was located, but eventually Dean spotted the small and impossibly bright neon sign. He reversed the Impala into a spot (careful to leave extra room between her and the other cars dotting the street) and turned the engine off. He made no move to get out of the car, though, instead looking back at Sam and Jess. “I’m still game for anything else you guys want to do, if you’ve changed your minds….” When that comment got him nothing but a sarcastically sweet smile from Jess and Bitchface #28 from Sam, he huffed, throwing himself out of the car.

            “It seems… gross. And seriously sketchy.” Jess commented as they walked behind Dean towards the club. Sam chuckled, hooking an arm around her shoulders. “Don’t worry, babe. The inside is fantastic. Trust me.” Once he reached the door, Dean paused, looking back towards Sam. He jerked his head towards the door, trying to silently tell Sam to knock. Sam, realizing a second later what Dean was doing, rolled his eyes. “Seriously, Dean? Just knock on the damn door.”

            “Hey, you’re the one who wanted to come!” Dean protested, taking a step backwards.

            “Why does it matter who knocks?”

            “It doesn’t! I’m just saying-”

            “If it doesn’t matter, then just go ahead and knock!”

            “I’m not gonna knock. If you guys want to go, you should knock.”

            “You’re being such a child, Dean.”

            “You’re a child! I-”

            “Are you guys coming or what?” Jess called from the open door to the club. They could see the monster body guard standing off to the side, who glanced blankly at Jess before turning and narrowing his eyes at Dean and Sam. Dean fidgeted underneath the glare, ‘cause that dude was probably five hundred pounds heavier than him. Sam sighed before hurrying forward, practically dragging Jess and Dean into the club by their wrists. Jess gave a little wave to the bouncer, who raised an eyebrow in response. Dean couldn’t resist, so he waved too, but all he got in return was a low growl. Dean quickly ducked around Jess so that she was in-between them, trying to act nonchalant. From Jess’s snort, he guessed he didn’t succeed.

           

Sam heard Jess’s gasp of amazement and grinned to himself. _‘Impressing the girlfriend? Check.’_ She took a step away from him, looking around her in a circle before turning back towards the boys. “This place is amazing! Oh, I love this color scheme….” Sam loved how much she enjoyed the simple things- it was hard to find someone who paid attention to the small details when looking at the big picture.

The club looked exactly how it had last week, all dark wood and clean white cloth. It was barely 9:30, so the club didn’t have too many patrons yet, although Dean could see Balthy behind the bar, cleaning something with a rag. He had looked up when the trio walked in, and gave them a little wave- accompanied by the biggest smirk Dean had ever seen in his life on his face. There was a group of three college-age girls sitting in a booth, and there were a couple men settling down into chairs spread out among the room, but otherwise the club was empty. Unfortunately, that meant it was that much easier for a certain suited bastard to find them.

            Crowley came up to them seemingly out of nowhere, a large grin on his face. “Hello boys! So nice to see you again! How are you?” he greeted, putting a hand on each of their shoulders. “And who is this lovely lady here?” he questioned, not giving them time to answer his previous question.

            Sam smiled thinly, arm working its way back around Jess’s waist. “This is Jess, my girlfriend.” he answered, using his height above Crowley as an advantage to stare him down.

            “Charmed.” Crowley smarmed, dropping a kiss on Jess’s hand, making her laugh. Sam’s face twitched, but he held his tongue. Dean edged closer to Jess, feeling serious creeper vibes coming off of Crowley. “And where is your lovely lady?” Crowley continued, turning to Dean, a smile just barely visible on his lips.

            _‘Dick.’_ Dean chuckled, shaking his head. “I’m, ah, currently on the market. Who knows, maybe I’ll find a girl here tonight.”

            Crowley chuckled heartily at that, making Dean frown. What was up with this guy? “Yea, who knows. Well, Jess, boys- enjoy your night.” They all nodded, smiles ranging from barely there to genuine. As they were about to turn away to go find a seat, Crowley reached out and grabbed Sam’s elbow. “Oh, and boys? My offer still stands. Come and find me after the show and we can talk.” Then he left, seeming to vanish into the slowly growing crowd of well-dressed men and chattering women.

            “God that guy gives me the creeps.” Dean muttered, rolling his shoulders. He led the way towards an empty table on the side of the club, sliding into the booth across from Sam and Jess.

            Jess shrugged. “I thought he seemed nice enough.” Sam snorted, replying, “Babe, on a scale of creepy from one to clowns, he’s definitely up there with midgets.”

            Dean grinned widely. “Or a midget clown.” Sam wrinkled his nose and faked a shudder, making both Dean and Jess laugh.

            Glancing at his phone, Dean saw that it was almost 9:45. What did Crowley say? The club opened at ten? They had a little bit of time to kill… unfortunately, there was the issue of not having anything to kill the time with. He settled into the extremely soft booth seat, blowing a breath out through his mouth. Next he started tapping out some drum rhythms on the table, nodding his head along. A minute later, Dean resorted to making noises, head swiveling around to look at the fancy decorations on the wall.

            Sam kicked Dean’s leg under the table. “Quit it. What are you, like five?”

“Maybe.” Dean retorted.

Sam sighed, holding back a smile. Sliding back out of the booth, he said, “How about I go get us some drinks.” After Dean’s enthusiastic agreement and Jess’ “Thanks, babe”, he meandered through the tables and chairs, going over to the sleek-looking bar. He waited for a moment for the blonde bartender- Dean had said his name, but it was extremely weird, so no one could blame Sam for not knowing it- to finish eye-fucking a female patron before he flagged him down.

            “What can I get for you?” he asked in a posh British accent, leaning over the counter into Sam’s personal space. He was well-dressed, in a way, in extremely tight jeans and an extremely low-cut dark blue vee-neck.

            “Just three beers, please.” Sam responded, subtly leaning backwards.

            The bartender smiled and reached down and to the side, pulling three bottles from some hidden alcove behind the bar. “Aren’t you Sam Winchester?” he suddenly asked, halting in the process of opening the first of the bottles.

            Sam tore his gaze from the painting that was on the wall beside him. It looked like a scene from the bible, but it was no scene that Sam had ever heard of. It looked like there was an angel dragging a man from the ground, while other angels stood by and waved their arms in excitement. When did that happen? “What? Uh, yeah, that’s me.” he intoned, confused. He’d never met this guy before in his life….

            The bartender chuckled, deftly opening up all three beers in quick succession. “I recognize you and your brother from last week. I’m Balthazar, by the way, if Dean didn’t tell you.” He passed the bottles across the counter with a wink.

            Sam grinned, taking the three bottles by their necks in one hand. “Yeah, he did mention you. Balthy, I think is what he said.” He looked down at Balthazar with a teasing smirk. Immediately Balthazar dropped his smile and thinned his lips, eyes narrowing. Sam lost his smile as well, because damn… Dean wasn’t kidding when he said this guy looked like he was about to kill you with one hand.

            “Well, you can tell Mr. Bowlegs that it would be much appreciated if he would stop using that god awful nickname.” Balthazar snapped, rolling his eyes and turning away to help another customer. Sam blew out a breath before retreating back to their booth. He wove his way back towards the table, a now quite steady stream of people coming through the door.

            When he reached the table he laughed, handing the drinks out. “You weren’t kidding Dean. The bartender- Balthazar- actually scares me almost as much as Hellhound does.” he said, jerking his head towards the door, where the massive bodyguard was checking the IDs of a gaggle of young girls.

            “I know, right!” Dean agreed, shooting a look over at the blonde. He was currently in deep conversation with a mildly attractive woman, and he was giving her the bedroom eyes like no other. From the woman’s coy attitude and loud laughter, it was working. Dean raised an eyebrow- maybe he could get some lessons.

            Jess leaned forward, a small smile on her face. “So- on a scale from one to the sun, how hot are these dancers?” she posed. Dean and Sam choked harshly on their first swigs of beer, and Jess laughed loudly. “I’m kidding! You know I only have eyes for you.” She booped Sam on the nose before leaning in for a kiss, which lasted much longer than they had planned (and Dean had wanted). They came up for air only after Dean had cleared his throat four times already, both smirking like assholes.

            “I’m gonna vomit. Cut it out.”

            The lights suddenly dimmed, and Sam, Jess, and Dean glanced at each other; mischief, excitement, and anxiety showing themselves respectively. “Welcome ladies- and gentleman- to Supernatural. Remember, no touching, and keep it in your pants. Get ready for the best night of your life… our boys have a celestial touch, and they’re all yours.” There were some cheers from the crowd, including a “Whoop!” from Jess. Like before, bass-heavy music started leaking out of the speakers, growing in volume until Dean could feel it in his ribs.

Up on stage, a thin, white-blonde dancer strode out, wearing a black leather jacket (which was partly open to reveal a bare chest and stomach) and deep red shorts. Snowy white wings could just be seen poking out of the bottom of his jacket, and a cool smirk was on his face. Dean immediately pegged him as a pretentious dick. When he voiced his opinion to Sam, however, Sam just rolled his eyes and turned his eyes back to the stage. Dean did the same while sipping his beer, only somewhat sullen.

This kid looked younger than Sam, but _damn_ he was holding his own up there. Dean didn’t specifically remember him from last week, but he seemed to have sharper, more elegant movements. It looked like everything he did was clean cut and purposeful, and he had it all under control. He realized he was still just holding his beer in the air, and immediately put it back on the table, clearing his throat. Stealing a glance at Sam and Jess, he shook his head when he saw that they were both already utterly engrossed in the performance, intently focused.

It turned out that each dancer only did one song tonight, because once it ended, the dancer gave a small bow, efficiently gathered up the bills still being thrown at him, and exited the stage. The song melded effortlessly into the next, and the next dancer was jogging onto the stage. This one had brown hair that stood straight up, a blue bow tie, and deep red wings somehow attached to his bare torso. He immediately sprung up on the pole, seemingly more excited and energetic than the last one.

The longer Dean watched these dancers, the more he noticed small things that differentiated them. For instance, this one had an exuberance about him, like a puppy or a child- he bounced around everything he did. The one with golden hair, a white shirt, and light brown wings seemed to think this was all extremely amusing, as he was constantly grinning hugely and would often laugh and wink at the customers. The dancer in a black tank top with curly black hair and gray and white wings seemed somber- he rarely ever grinned, and every move he made seemed deliberate and important. Whoever was in the white shirt collar and golden brown wings was sneaky; he would surprise the audience with a surprise drop or a roll of his muscles at any moment.

If Dean was giving this much thought into a strip show, he was in trouble. He moved his head for what felt like the first time in an hour, looking away from the dancer in the white tie with brown and white wings (who, by the way, moved like he was a fighter- every move was forceful and- _‘For fuck’s sake….’_ ). Sam and Jess across the table looked like they hadn’t moved, drinks virtually untouched in front of them. Dean had lost count of the number of dancers that had gone, but it had to have been at least ten. He drained his beer for lack of anything else to do and resumed watching the show, the fighter dancer being replaced by a taller blonde one with a dog collar and coal black wings. Well, this one would certainly be interesting.

            Across the table, Sam was forming a plan in his mind as he watched the performances. He had been sneaking peeks at Dean throughout the last hour, and he was _definitely_ mentally involved in this. Like, he had his “I’m actually thinking about this so help me God if you try to interrupt me” look on his face. And he only ever got that look on his face either when asked an involved question about cars or when he was reading a new novel. Sam knew his brother better than anyone else, and no matter how hard Dean tried to deny it, he was extremely interested in this show, probably more than he knew or cared to admit.

            Meanwhile, on stage, there was a spectacular performance going on. The dancer- who Sam was pretty sure he remembered was named Lucifer, because it was an awful strange name for an “angelic” dancer to have- was burning up the pole, and had probably hundreds of dollars on the stage beneath him. If Sam had to describe the dancer’s movements and body language (and his inner lawyer was constantly doing things like this)… he would probably use the words ‘pure sex’. There was nothing “angelic” about Lucifer, and that was obvious as he shamelessly ground against the pole, limbs swaying and flexing in time to the music. From the shouts of the customers at the edge of the stage, they agreed wholeheartedly with Sam.

            Soon enough his song was over, and instead of melting together the songs like they had been, there was a beat of silence as Lucifer collected the bills beneath his feet. He got quite a few arm and legs strokes as well as he ventured towards the very edge of the stage. Then Crowley’s voice flowed out from the hidden speakers. “Ladies and gentleman, for the last performance of the night, please welcome Castiel to the stage.”

            Apparently the regulars here knew what this meant, and there were a good few that edged closer to the stage to watch. Dean immediately focused his wandering gaze back onto the stage; he hadn’t even realized that the blue-eyed dancer hadn’t been seen yet. Subconsciously he leaned forward in his seat, chin resting on his hand. A new song started, and Dean was surprised to find that he recognized this one. “Royals”, it was called- Jess had been singing it in the car on the way over. It sounded like it had been remixed, though, with a bit of speed and some extra bass.

            Castiel looked calm and serene as he walked up to the pole and gripped it. Almost effortlessly he gripped up it, wrapping a leg around it and spinning back halfway down. He did this several times, each time varied with a different limb or added flair. Everything was timed perfectly with the music, and everything was perfectly executed. Castiel had a seriousness about him. Not a depressed or angry seriousness, but a calm and focused one. Every move he made was deliberate and graceful, and there was no surprise in Dean’s mind that he was the closing act.

            As the song was nearing the end, Castiel left the pole and came towards the front of the stage. He began to peel off his trench coat, earning shouts of encouragement and more bills from the crowd below. His hips and shoulders swayed to the music, and a miniscule smile was on his face. The sweat on the dancer’s body made him shine, and his glossy black wings shone in the stage lights. Castiel was swiveling his hips and rolling his body like no other dancer had tonight, and his hands that sometimes crept down his skin weren’t helping. _‘Well that just isn’t fair.’_ he thought as Castiel slowly untie his dark blue tie and began using it in his dancing. All in all, Dean was confused, awed, and maybe even a little bit turned on. Maybe. A little bit. Sam and Jess were both watching him, smothering a few snickers with their hands.

            The song ended both too fast and too late, and Dean blinked himself out of a kind of stupor as Castiel gracefully walked off of the stage. Dean immediately went to down his beer- god did he need a drink- but was disappointed when it came up empty. _‘Son of a bitch.’_  Without giving Sam or Jess time to respond, he muttered, “I’m gonna go get some more drinks.” and abruptly stood up and walked over to the bar. He barely heard Crowley’s announcement about “floor time”, and he was so wrapped up in his thoughts that he almost fell face first into one lady’s boobs.

            By the time he had wound his way through to the bar he took a seat, propping his elbows on the bar and raking a hand through his hair. His face sunk down onto his hands, and he sat there a minute, just breathing, his mind and heart racing. This is why he shouldn’t have come back here- it made him confused and anxious and a tiny bit out of breath. _Why_ was the thought of Castiel dancing enough to make his blood pound faster, and muddle his thoughts up beyond belief? Why couldn’t he simply appreciate a good show? Both times he had had trouble tearing his eyes away- he was amazed, blindsided, awe-struck. Sam wasn’t affected like this- he just liked to watch (or maybe even join in). Next time Sam wanted to go to this damn club he was going alone, screw him and Jess.

            “Hey. Mr. Down in the Dumps! Are you just gonna sit there or are you gonna have a drink?” An accented voice made its way over the somewhat-muted music to Dean. Lifting his head up, he rubbed a hand down it before sticking a smile on his face. Balthazar was in front of him, his entire face screaming ‘I’m enjoying your pain’.

            Chuckling, Dean replied, “Uh, yeah. Gimme two beers and a whiskey.”

            Balthazar raised an eyebrow, smirking as he reached down and grabbed two bottles. “Rough night?” he asked, reaching over to the left of himself for a faded old Jack Daniels.

            “You have no idea.” Dean mumbled, watching disinterestedly as he poured two fingers into a fancy glass tumbler. He took it, immediately swallowing half of it, relishing the burn it had in his throat. Across the wood counter, Balthazar made himself comfortable, crossing his arms underneath him as he leaned forward.

            “So. I heard that Crowley has offered you a job at this snazzy place. I don’t really care how or why, but my questions is- what’s the delay? Why haven’t you decided?” Balthazar narrowed his eyes, and he seemed much more serious than before.

            Dean shook his head, looking off to the side as he finished the rest of his scotch. Was nothing private anymore? “Yea, he did. The delay is that he won’t take my no for an answer.” he responded, passing his glass for a refill. Balthazar acquiesced, but still looked thoughtful.

            Handing his glass back over, Balthazar murmured, “He seems very adamant in thinking that you guys will take the job. He insists that you both will be here in less than a couple weeks, and that he won’t have to find new dancers.”

            Dean studied him, glass half raised to his lips. This was news to him. “Why?”

            Balthazar shrugged, leaning away to head towards another customer. “I don’t know. I’m just a humble bartender- why don’t you ask him yourself?” Then he left without another word, smiling and chatting up the other patrons right away. Dean finished his drink and set down the glass, standing up from the chair. Spotting a piece of paper in front of him that wasn’t there before, he snorted as he picked it up and saw that it was the tab. He quickly threw down enough money before grabbing the two beers and heading back to the table, carefully avoiding touching any of the half-naked people strewn about the room.

* * *

 

            Of course, it _had_ to be Lucifer, the ‘pure sex’ dancer, who came over to their booth and offered a dance. Sam hadn’t even seen him come up to their table, and jumped when a cool hand landed on his shoulder. Jess giggled as Sam flinched against her, and waved shyly at the dancer. He was taller and stronger in person, and Sam was right at eye level with his bare chest. Sam swallowed, now extremely uncomfortable. Not only was the dancer right in his personal space and touching him, he was offering a lap dance to either him or his girlfriend, neither of which wouldn’t end well.

            “So, what can I do for you?” the dancer had asked. His voice was quiet and more subdued than Sam would have guessed, but it still had a quality to it that made you want to listen to him. _‘What do I do? How do you politely dismiss a stripper? I could pull a Dean and snap at him, but I feel like this guy would just drop onto my lap out of spite. Shit.’_ Luckily, he was saved by having to answer by Jess.

            “We’re here together, so thank you, but no. You were really great up there though!” she chirped, handing over a twenty that she had fished out of her pocket. Lucifer took it and grinned, grabbing her hand and placing a kiss on it. Jess smiled and turned pink, making Sam sigh. He would be more upset if this wasn’t their job to flirt with everyone.

            The hand on his shoulder tightened once before it released, and now Lucifer directed his gaze to Sam. “If you change your mind, let me know.” he murmured quietly, winking before melting away into the dim club and the crowd. Sam turned towards Jess, hand finding hers under the table. “Well that was interesting.” he breathed.

            Jess laughed. “Babe, you looked like a deer in headlights. Between you and Dean it’s a wonder that you don’t spontaneously combust.” She leaned her head on Sam’s shoulder, hooking a leg around his. “I can see why Dean didn’t want to come back, though. I can see that he’s horribly confused by all this. He wants to enjoy it, but he doesn’t want to admit that he does.”

            She was completely right. Now if only Dean would have some sense and listen…. Sam smiled and dropped a kiss on her head. “I love it when you get all deep like that.”

            Jess snickered. “So do I.” They both started cracking up, and were still laughing when Dean walked up with two more beers. Dropping them on the table, he slid into the seat, tilting his head at them. “Did I miss something?” he asked.

            Sam just waved his hand, trying to swallow the rest of his laughter. “Not much. Jess was being perverted. Oh, and Lucifer came over and offered a lap dance.” he deadpanned, hoping to get a reaction out of Dean. He wasn’t disappointed- his eyes widened, he took a deep breath, and ran a hand through his hair and down his face.

            “Look- you guys ready to go? Unless you want to us- SON OF A BITCH!” Dean jumped as a hand landed on his shoulder, flailing an arm. Crowley stood there calmly smirking, like always.

            “Hello boys. Jess.” he greeted, nodding. “Boys, could I have a word with you? Up in my office, perhaps?”

            Sam and Dean looked at each other, making a decision together. “Whatever you want to say can be said here, with Jess.” Sam replied, a smile on his face.

            Crowley’s smile didn’t change, but his gaze hardened a bit. “Very well then. I would like an answer to my- rather generous- offer. These spots are worth more than you imagine, and right now it’s holding up my business.” he said, all business.

            Sighing, Dean said, “Look, we already said. We’re flattered, but the answer is still-”

            “Can you give us one more week to decide?” Sam interrupted, kicking Dean’s shin. He violently ignored to returned kick and the daggers being glared at him.

            “Sam, come on.” Dean snapped.

            Clearing his throat, Crowley shifted his weight towards Dean. “Look, moose and squirrel. I know that you can barely afford the tuition for Sam’s school. I know you can’t keep down a steady job and that you live in a dilapidated old apartment sketchier than a prison Laundromat. I know you need the money, I know that you need this job, and I know that you can’t keep your eyes off of the dancers.” The entire time, Crowley had remained cool and collected, voice barely rising. But his words cut through the space between them like a knife, and all three sitting at the table stared at him in varying degrees of astonishment or anger.

            Crowley studied them all for a second, before giving them a cold smile. “I want my answer within a week.” He strode away, becoming lost from sight within a few seconds.

            Dean and Sam looked at each other. Dean scoffed, throwing a napkin he had been shredding to the table. “Let’s scram.” he ground out, quickly walking towards the door. Sam and Jess followed after a moment, Sam biting his lip. He was determined to make Dean see that this was a good idea, but now he had less than a week to do it. _‘Fantastic.’_


	7. The Majestic Wordsmith Sam

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Reminder that this story now updates every other week, usually on a Monday or Tuesday.
> 
> As always, gif makers and all fanart are welcome, as are ideas on ships, plots, and events.
> 
> Sorry for the brevity, but I had tonsillitis and mono at the same time last week, and my laptop is now officially busted :(

  **Follow me on[Tumblr](http://lokisays.tumblr.com) for new chapters, updates, fanart, and visual guides for the story.**           

* * *

            Sam sighed, absentmindedly tapping his fingers on his leg. The car was silent, apart from Jess’s country music playing quietly in the background, but he didn’t mind, and neither did Jess. The rides were either spent with extremely loud and animated conversations about their day-mocking people they had seen and sharing information they had learned- or in complete silence, like today. If they didn’t have anything to say, they wouldn’t say anything at all. It worked, somehow.

            Besides, he was in deep thought anyway. The night before last at the club had been progress, no matter how Dean may have been acting. But now Sam had to think of a way to make his brother see the pros of their situation instead of just the cons. Sure, it wasn’t like Sam was bursting with excitement to be a male stripper, but at least he could see that it was the best opportunity they’d had in a long time. He’d seen how much those dancers had pulled in each night- it was probably more than Dean made in a week. This was a chance to maybe move out of their miniature apartment, and afford a place where Dean could have an actual bed. Sam could take more classes at Stanford, and Dean could stop working so many hours at Bobby’s shop. They could stop sneaking into movies and stop committing credit card fraud.

            It was more than just the money. Though, it would be incredible to not have to steal and cheat to make ends meet. It was the fact that, for one of the first times in his life, Sam could be doing something for his own gain and for his own reasons. In the past he’d always had to go along with his dad’s plans, or listen to Dean, or- in more recent years- get away from his screwed up family. It wasn’t life or death, it wasn’t struggling to find food and shelter, and it wasn’t running and hiding. For the first time, Sam was in complete control over his immediate future. He could choose to do what he wanted, and it was a heady sensation for him. _‘Now if only Dean could see that.’_

There was no reason he couldn’t do it without his brother, of course. Sam was most likely going to accept the job, whether Dean did or not. But he knew that if he did, Dean would be furious and upset, and probably do something incredibly stupid. The last time Dean had gotten infuriated, he had taken a mallet to an abandoned shop on Bobby’s property and ended up breaking his wrist and spraining his shoulder. Also, Crowley probably expected a package deal or something, and form what he’d seen, Crowley was not a guy he wanted to be on the shit-list of.

 _‘This would be so much easier if Dean would just agree to listen to reason for once in his life.’_ he thought, softly bumping his head on the headrest behind him. Jess glanced over at him as she turned onto the street for their apartment. “You okay, Sam?” she asked, concern furrowing her brow.

Sam gave her a small grin. “Yea, I’m fine. Just thinking.” he responded. Sighing, he elaborated. “I decided I’m going to take the job at the club, whether Dean does or not.” He frowned. “It would be easier, though, if he did. I would feel better about it, too. I just wish that he wouldn’t be so stubborn all the time.” he huffed, shifting in his seat.

Jess made a noncommittal noise as she swung into the parking lot of the apartment. She put the car in park in front of the main doors. Turning in her seat, she had a soft smile on her lips. “Babe, you do what you want to do. Dean’s not your dad, no matter how much he takes it on himself to be. And I think he’ll come around. Eventually. Just stop worrying over it. It’ll all be okay.” She leaned forward and planted a kiss on his forehead, her hand coming down to grip his. He smiled, catching her lips in a kiss.

“Thank you.” he murmured, leaning his forehead on hers. “What would I do without you?” he asked, bringing up his free hand to stroke her hair.

Giggling, she kissed him again, tongue darting out to run across his lips. “Crash and burn?” she suggested, pulling back. “I gotta get home and clean Bela’s apartment. Who knew that housesitting would be so much work?” She rolled her eyes, squeezing Sam’s hand once before letting go. “Good luck with Dean.”

“Thanks. Love you.” He kissed her cheek with a smile before hopping out of the car, waving as she drove off. Turning around he jogged inside, waving at the landlady behind the reception desk. She waved back, sending a wink and a blown kiss his way. Sam winced, hurrying past her to their apartment halfway down the hall. He twisted the knob, giving the old door a shove with his shoulder when it got stuck instead of opening.

He could hear the TV going as he walked in. “Hey, Sam. Dinner’s on the table.” Dean called over his shoulder from where Sam could see he was sitting on the couch. “I already ate, but you guys took forever to get here, so….” Sam chuckled, shaking his head. Typical.

            Tossing his backpack into his room, Sam shrugged his coat off as he walked down the hallway towards the kitchen. Dropping it onto the back of a chair, he grabbed a glass and filled it with water from the fridge. “Dean, I gotta talk to you about something.” he declared, not wanting to beat around the bush. Sam sat down at the table, reaching over to drag the plate of microwavable burritos towards him.

            “Eat first. Doctor Sexy ends in like, fifteen minutes.” Dean countered, waving his hand in the air. Sam chuckled, digging into his food. He didn’t know what was with Dean and those daytime soap operas. They sounded ridiculous, if the dialogue he had heard meant anything. The lovesick confessions and the dramatics alone made him want to vomit.

            As he ate, he tried to think about how to approach the topic with Dean. If he eased into it, Dean might see what was coming and pull a Houdini act. If he dropped it on him like an A-bomb it might work, though it might also just get him angrier. _‘Like a cornered animal.’_ Maybe if he casually slipped it into a conversation… ‘ _No… Dean is expecting a talk, you already told him.’_ God, you’d think pre-law would have prepared him better for things like this. What if he tricked him into listening with a promise? It had worked before…. He worked his way through the plate of microwaved Mexican food, thinking of ways to present his opinion without Dean going apeshit.

            Too soon, it seemed, the credits were rolling on the TV and Sam could hear him standing up and stretching, complete with joints cracking and loud groaning. Dean walked back over to the table with a bottle in his hand, dropping into the seat across from Sam. “So. Talk to me.” he said, raising his hands in the air. Looking expectantly at Sam, he took a sip of his beer.

            Taking a deep breath, Sam decided to just jump into it. “Look, Dean.” he started, playing with his fingers. “I know how you feel about this, so all I’m asking is for you to hear me out, okay?” He looked up and found Dean’s eyes, waiting until he had gotten a nod from Dean to continue. Clearing his throat, he looked back down at the table again. “I want you to consider taking the job at Supernatural.” Sam braced himself for the inevitable explosion, but it never came. Cautiously he looked up and across the table.

            Dean’s expression had darkened considerably, and his jaw was clenched, but he remained silent. _‘Well that’s a surprise.’_ Sam hesitated, and Dean supplied, “Sam, just keep talking. Not gonna promise that it will make a difference, but I said I would hear you out.” He took a deep breath and another swallow of his beer, before waving his hand around. “Continue.” he prompted, sighing.

            Nodding, he cleared his throat again. “Okay…. Anyway, I know that you don’t want to, and I understand why. But don’t you think you’re overreacting just a little?” Sam reasoned, going for a diplomatic tone. Dean’s face showed him nothing but resignation and annoyance, so he couldn’t tell if it was working or not. Regardless, he forged ahead. “It is not a terrible job. The place is snazzy, it’s well run, it’s _safe…_.Crowley was right. We could definitely use that kind of money. Those guys are pulling in almost a thousand dollars a night, which is about as much as you make in a week and a half at Bobby’s. Just think about it. We could rent a bigger apartment upstairs, maybe, one where you can have your own bed instead of a shitty couch. You could stop working so many hours at the car shop. I could take more classes!”

            At his last few points Dean’s countenance has softened a bit, the hard lines on his face smoothing out a little. Sam took this as a good sign. Taking a deep breath, he decided to go for the heavy route. “I haven’t gotten the chance in my life to make many of my own decisions.” he began haltingly. “It was always whatever Dad said, we did. And then it was whatever you thought that we should do, and I always went along with it. Obviously, it all worked out, we’re still here, aren’t we?” He kept his eyes downcast, not wanting to see Dean’s reaction to his words. “Going to Stanford was one of the first times I’ve been able to do anything for myself. It hasn’t happened very often since, and I want to take advantage of when it does. And this is another one of those times.

            “I’m not complaining. You and dad took care of me, and basically made sure I survived. But now I’m old enough to make my own decisions and do what I think is best, and this job is I, Dean. I… I’m going to accept, whether you do or not. In five days- which is when Crowley wants his answer- I’ll go down to the club and sign up, or whatever, with or without you.” He paused. “I’d rather you be there with me, though.”  he stated firmly, clenching his jaw. He glanced quickly up at Dean, inwardly wincing at what he saw.

            Dean looked like a kicked puppy, if he was being honest. His eyes were downcast, a frown tugging at his downturned lips, and his whole face was just screaming “I’m blaming myself for this and now I hate myself”. Sam hated that he had put that look on Dean’s face, but he had to get his point across. “I’m sorry. But… that’s my opinion, like it or not.” he uttered, a frown of his own coming over his face.

            Shrugging, Dean listlessly drank more of his beer. “No, Sammy, I get it. You’re old enough to do whatever you want, and I guess I have to accept that.” He toyed with the lip of his bottle, not meeting Sam’s eye. “Don’t mean I have to like it, it is what it is.” Sighing, he ran a hand down his face, finally looking up at Sam. “Just… I can’t just sign up for this… I promise I’ll think more on it, okay?”

            “Okay.” Sam replied, nodding. It was more than he had hoped for. He gave a small smile. “Thanks, Dean.” he added. He could sense that Dean needed some space now, so he stood up and walked over the couch, flopping down to watch some brainless game show. He sincerely hoped that Dean would keep to his word and think on it, because it would be so much easier to do this with a clear conscience if his brother came with him.

* * *

 

            Dean sat alone at the table, draining the rest of his beer. _‘Well if that conversation didn’t make me feel like shit.’_ Now he understood why Sam wanted this job so much. It was about _choice,_ it was about _control_. The poor kid has been following others around all his life, and now he finally wanted to make a decision for himself. Who was Dean to keep him from doing that? Why should Dean be able to take that choice from him? The answer was, of course, that he was nobody, that he _shouldn’t_ take it from him. For god’s sake, the kid was on his way to law school, he could take his job matters into his own hands. His older brother shouldn’t be able to keep him from doing that. Dean’s inhibitions and worries shouldn’t bleed over into Sam so much. He didn’t have the right to keep him from something that was obviously important to him.

            Not to mention, Sam had good points. It was obvious this issue had been on his mind for a while, because he knew exactly what to say. He’d been thinking over this for days probably, the way only Sam can get fixated on an issue. Sam was totally convinced that this was the right thing to do, and he was just trying to make Dean see it from his point of view. He wasn’t even forcing him or giving him an ultimatum- he just wanted Dean to understand.

            And there was Dean feeling like a dick-monkey again, because Sam was just so _good_ deep down. His little brother wasn’t weighted down or cynical by their hard life, and he managed to always do the right thing and try to make everything alright. All he wanted was to do what he thought was best for both of them. Running a hand down his face, Dean sighed and leaned back in his chair. The way Sam had talked about it made it sound a hell of a lot better than Dean had been viewing it in his mind this past week. Lots of money, glamorous setting, an easy job…. Of course, that was all sugar coated, but it was what it boiled down to. Maybe… just maybe… he could get this to work.

            Then, images from two nights ago flashed through his mind, adding negatives to the growing list in his head. Dancers leading random strangers up to the private rooms, dancers shamelessly working the laps of even more strangers…. Yes, Dean loved sex, and was known for leaping at the chance when it presented himself. And yes, he was also known for one-night stands. But looking back on what he would have to do at this club, it just didn’t sit right with him. He couldn’t connect the dots in his mind to see the good side of it.

            Most of the dancers had looked happy enough, especially when they were collecting up the wads of cash being thrown up at them. And none of them l _ooked_ like strippers- like, if you were passing them in the street, you wouldn’t be able to pick them out from John Smith. So how did they get where they were? Were they like him, and just got roped into it because of outside circumstances, and had learned to enjoy it? Or where they willing, excited, and sex-crazed fiends, completely ready to do whatever it is people wanted?  He hoped that it was the first option, and that _if_ he agreed to this, then he would come to enjoy it.

One part that still rankled him, however, was the part where guys would be half of the people trying to feel him up. Yes, he had had that happen a few times before, and a couple times it had even gone further (shit happens in community college). He wasn’t a complete stranger to that side of things, but there was a reason he’d had sex with nobody but women since. He’d tried it… and it wasn’t for him. So he wasn’t jumping at the chance to rub up against male strangers. _‘Wish I knew how Sam was making that okay in his head.’_

He decided to make a list of pros and cons to this. It had always helped him in the past. Pros were: more money ( _way_ more money), guarantee of employment, working less hours at the car shop, and letting Sam do what he believed was good. He refused to acknowledge the treacherous thread of thought, containing a certain extremely talented, trench-coated dancer, that intruded. Cons were: creepy as hell boss, being sexual with strangers on a nightly basis (though that one was… debatably a con)… and that was all he had.

The longer he sat there, the more tangled and confused his thoughts became. Every positive aspect of the job brought along another negative aspect, and he was no closer to figuring this out than before. He didn’t know what would happen if they didn’t have an answer for Crowley by next Monday- or if they said no- but he wasn’t looking forward to finding out. _‘There’s probably not much he_ can _do, right?’_ The guy was creepy, but he wasn’t about to murder them or anything.

Looking over at Sam, who was fully invested in the fame of Jeopardy on the TV, Dean felt another twinge of guilt. He was doing this for Sam, and he’d done some pretty shady things for the kid in the past. What was this comparatively? _‘Certainly more personally demanding.’_ He fisted his hands in his hair, thunking his head down on the table. Well, he had fulfilled his promise to Sam. He had thought about it, and thought about it some more, and his answer was… that he still didn’t have an answer to give to either Sam or Crowley. _‘Shit’._


	8. Third Time's the Charm

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the late update, but both my beta and I were busy with holidays and stuff. I hope you had a wonderful Christmas, and Happy New Year!!
> 
> As always, gif makers and all fanart are welcome, as are ideas on ships, plots, and events.

**Follow me on[Tumblr](http://lokisays.tumblr.com) for new chapters, updates, fanart, and visual guides for the story.**      

* * *

              Dean still wasn't sure how he ended up here, by himself in the Impala, driving along the highway in the dark. Every other thought he had involved _'You dumbass'_ or _'What the fuck are you doing'_. He knew that this wasn't a good idea, and that it wasn't healthy in the slightest. Deep down, he ignored all of the bells going off in his head and in his gut. Something was telling him that even if it wasn't a good idea, it was something that he needed to do. He was doing it for Sammy, because Sammy had asked him to.

               He had promised Sam last night that he would think over the job offer again. And when he promised Sam something, he came through, always. So he had sat, drank, thought, and drank some more. After a few hours of completely useless “thinking”, he had collapsed, deciding to push his problems until tomorrow. When he’d woken up, the only thing he could think of (past his slightly head-numbing hangover) was going back to the club and giving it another chance. Third time’s the charm, right? _‘Right.’_

               Also, he had decided that the only way to get through tonight was to get drunk off his ass, and he was fully intent on carrying out that plan. Dean knew for a fact that the club had prime alcohol, and Balthazar would be only too happy to further his suffering. _'Bastard.'_

               All too soon he found himself in the increasingly-familiar, destitute backstreet where the club was located. After he had parked Baby, he sat there for a minute, trying to work up the courage to go in. Which was stupid, really. Dean had already driven all the way here, what was fifty more feet? At least, that was what he was trying to tell himself. _'You're being ridiculous. You've already been here twice. Do it for Sam. He wants you to be a part of this, so now do your piece.'_ And with that little pep talk, he shoved out of the car, locking it and striding towards the door.

               Dean knocked on the door, licking his lips as he waited. Shoving his hands in his pockets, he frowned at the unresponsive door. _'Shouldn't the Hulk be out here b-'_ He jumped backwards as the door banged open, and he could swear that he saw a smirk on the enormous bouncer's face as he skated huffily past. Dean glared back, heading straight to the bar. He wasn't sure what time it was, but the club was nearly full, so it must be close to show time. Glancing up and around him, Dean rolled his eyes as he didn't see a clock on the wall. Figures that this place would follow the unspoken Vegas casino rule. Balthazar was already busy flirting and making drinks- though it looked like more of the former- as Dean arrived at the bar. He sat on one of the fancy upholstered bar stools, patiently waiting his turn. Well, not patiently, per-say. He wanted some liquid courage, and he wanted it now.

               It took about a minute and a half for Balthazar to turn his attention towards Dean's way. He performed an exaggerated double take, face stretching into a wide grin. "Well look who's back! It's good old Dean-boy. Where's your pet moose?" he snarked, leaning towards Dean over the bar.

               Rolling his eyes, Dean replied, "My brother Sam isn't here tonight- some sort of party his friends are throwing." He shrugged, though secretly he had been glad for the occasion. It was preferable that Sam didn't know he had come back without him.

               At that, Balthazar cocked his head, giving him a scrutinizing look. "Well, why are you here, then?" he questioned.

               Dean sighed, wondering if it was worth it to tell the bartender the whole story.

"Well..." Weren't drunks supposed to spill their life to the underpaid bartender? _'Fuck it.'_ "Crowley wants our answer by next Monday. Sam... is gonna accept. With or without me. I'd rather it be with me, just so he's not by himself, so... I figured I would come back, give it another go, see if I can convince myself to come with him." he explained, studying the grain patterns in the dark stained wood of the bar.

               Balthazar _hmph_ ed in front of him. "I see. You're gonna need something strong, then, mate." The bartender reached over to his left, grabbing an old bottle of whiskey so faded that Dean couldn't even read the name. He deftly poured a couple fingers into a tumbler, sliding it over to Dean. Dean downed it in two swallows, immediately handing it back over while making a slight face at the burn going down his throat. Balthazar chuckled, refilling it.  "Good luck, then." He slowly handed the glass back to Dean, seemingly in thought. There was a pregnant pause, before the bartender spoke uncharacteristically seriously. "I know it may not mean much coming from me, but this truly is a good place, and I think Sam is right. You should take the job." he stated. With that, the blonde winked and walked away towards a gaggle of women sitting and drinking martinis at the end of the bar.

               Dean scoffed and shook his head, standing up with his drink. Sending a cursory glance around the club, he tried to find an empty table. Preferably one that was dark and out of sight. Finally, he spotted a small both in the corner farthest from the stage, tucked away and half covered in shadow. _'Perfect.'_ As he settled into the cushioned seat, he wondered if he should just buy the whole bottle from Balthazar to save him constant walking back and forth to the bar. As he was swirling the remains of his drink in his glass, the lights dimmed, and his eyes snapped up to the stage. Crowley's voice rang out from the hidden speakers, and even though his booth was even darker than before, he still felt like he was being watched by the creep. He let out a long breath as the first dancers came on stage, eyes scanning for a certain mop of dark hair. Simultaneously feeling angry with himself for even looking and disappointed that he didn't find it, he scowled and went back to the bar. He was definitely going to need that whole bottle.

* * *

 

               Things had been getting better in the club. Sandalphon’s murder had been almost two weeks ago, and nothing untoward had happened since. All of the dancers had been getting along better, and the general atmosphere had improved a hundred-fold. They laughed quicker, talked more, and relaxed easier. Relations had never come easily to the group. They all had their suspicious pasts, tragic back stories, and mistrusting personalities. Everyone here was jaded and cynical, but they tried their best to get along. Well… some of them tried.

               Castiel was once again part of the closing group, so he was waiting out in the hallway behind all of the other dancers. Tonight, Azrael, Camael, and Gabriel were closing out the show with him, and the four of them stood in a loose clump.

               Azrael was staring at the wall to his left, seemingly uninterested in anything else, like always. Gabriel was chattering away at Camael, seemingly unbothered by the somewhat lack-luster responses he was receiving. Further on up in the line, he could see Haniel and Jophiel deep in conversation, wild hand gestures included. Uriel was immersed in his phone, and Castiel assumed that he was texting his girlfriend Emma. Lucifer leaned boredly against the wall, and it looked like he was playing with a cat's cradle string. Michael was speaking with Raphael, a honest grin on his face for what felt like the first time in weeks. Raphael had that effect on people. Raguel, who was up front with Raziel, Zadkiel, and Ariel, was simply staring off into space.  Zadkiel was talking to Ariel next to the stairs, and Castiel hoped that Zadkiel wasn't being too terrible, because Ariel looked terrified as he shrunk back against the wall.

               Castiel frowned, preparing to go over and see what was the matter, but before he could, Chamuel shouted from behind him, "Alright, guys, head upstairs.” Sending a glance back at the pair as Ariel scurried behind Zadkiel in the line, Castiel shook his head and followed the dancers up the stairs.

               Castiel slid down the wall to sit on the floor of the hallway, Gabriel settling on the floor on his right, Azrael on his left. Being the last group, they had about 25 minutes until they had to be on stage. Castiel resigned himself to a silent wait, because Azrael seemed to be a natural mood-deteriorator. Imagine his surprise as Azrael turned to him and said, "The brothers, you met them, right?" His dark eyes drilled holes into Castiel's, and he raised an eyebrow as he waited for an answer.

               Castiel started, before responding surprisedly, "Um, yes. Briefly on the stairs. Why?"

               Turning back to the front, Azrael said softly, "There are so many different things being said about them, but barely anybody has actually seen them. I was curious." There was a pause, before he questioned, "For instance, is it true that one of them is a giant?" with a small smirk.

               Castiel chuckled, strangely thrilled that Azrael was talking, let alone making jokes. "Well, Sam- the younger one- is quite tall. I think even taller than Chamuel. Dean is tall, too, maybe as tall as Raphael." He nodded.

               Azrael made a small noise in his throat. "And what do you think?"

               "About what?"

               He leveled Castiel with a heavy look. "On whether they're going to work here or not."

               'Oh.' Castiel sighed. He leaned back against the wall, thinking. "I believe that they should, obviously. I think Sam will- he seemed much more open to the idea. Dean I am not so sure about... though I can't see him leaving his brother alone here." Castiel grinned briefly. "So, in short, I guess my thought is that yes, eventually, they will join us."

               He glanced at Azrael, who merely nodded and kept silent. Castiel was left to his own thoughts, which were mostly revolving around the Winchesters. He frowned, folding his legs up and wrapping his arms around them, resting his chin on his knees. This was incredibly aggravating- the Winchesters and their business were of no concern to him. None.

               Yet still the next twenty minutes passed with nothing but thoughts concerning the two brothers. He didn’t even go through his routine like he normally would do before a show. It may not be wholly necessarily, but irked him that he had- yet again- gotten lost in his thoughts. Soon enough, Azrael, Raziel, Michael, Lucifer, and Jophiel came slipping into the dark hallway. Castiel and his group took that as their signal, and stood up, shaking out limbs and  receiving whispered “Good lucks!” Plus one “Don’t trip” from Gabriel as he attempted to push Castiel off the edge of the stage. Castiel glared back and followed the other two out onto the stage, his trench coat flapping around his ankles. As Azrael and Gabriel leaned pointedly against the side polls, Castiel and Chamuel continued walking to the front of the stage. The previous song finished, and as a new song started, the four on stage began to dance.

               Castiel couldn’t see what the two dancers were doing behind him; he was focused on the crowd in front of him. The trick was to keep them interested for the entire act, all four songs. It was difficult at first, because they only had so much clothing and so many props to begin with. But quickly he figure out that it wasn’t in the stripping, it was in the movement. The customers focused their sight onto the body, not the clothes. So Castiel did what he did best- he _moved_.

               Lifting his arms he swiveled his hips, his legs slowly bending until he was almost kneeling. He then slowly stood back up, running a hand down from his shoulder to his thigh. Throwing back his head he smiled at the people crowding around the stage, dropping a hand to graze lightly against a few of them. That earned quite a few screams and many more bills to be thrown up.

               Of course, what really got the crowd going every night was when the dancers used each other as props. That was why, half way through the second song, Castiel reached out to tug Chamuel’s arm. Chamuel paused in his dancing, sending a smirk Castiel’s way. Grinning back, Castiel faced him, placing a leg on either side of his. He began to grind against Chamuel’s thigh, while Chamuel slowly shucked off Castiel’s coat. Castiel could hear the crowd’s approval, and he and Chamuel grinned privately. Things like this happened all the time in shows, and the “angels” had learned long ago to let go of any awkwardness or timidity.

               The rest of the show passed in a haze for Castiel, the routine of it fading into his memory like blank sheets of paper. He could rarely recall a specific night’s show more than a week later. If that. Before he knew it, his tie was half in his pants, his trench coat was across the stage, and he was helping Gabriel pick up the last few bills from the floor. “Nice work there, Cassie. If I were Chamuel I’d be taking a cold shower right now.” Gabriel murmured, snickering as Castiel lightly smacked his head in retaliation.

                “Okay you lot, it’s floor time. Remember, no touching, and private rooms are between you and the dancers only. Enjoy the rest of your night here at Supernatural.” Crowley’s light-hearted announcement acted as a signal for the dancers, and they began to snake out of the hallway behind the stage. Smiles were pasted on, walks became slower and slyer, and voices lowered. Castiel sighed as he followed Azrael out into the crowd, fixing what he hoped was a convincing smile onto his face. He really would just like to go home after stage performances.

               Beginning a meandering pathway through the room that separated him from some of the other dancers, he began to wind through the tables and chairs, occasionally dropping a wink there or a drag of a hand there. Within half a minute he was flagged down by a young woman at a table with her friend. As Castiel approached with a smile, the woman murmured, “You were easily the best one up there, gorgeous. How about we use one of those handy rooms upstairs?” The woman’s friend openly stared, obviously excited for what she was sure was about to occur.

               Castiel modified his smile, making it a bit saddened, but also warmer. “I’m sorry, but I’m not the dancer to ask for that.” He was one of the few dancers who didn’t agree to use the private rooms, but if Crowley was irked by it, he didn’t show it. Besides, he had more than enough dancers willing to make a little bit more money upstairs. Lifting a hand to the woman’s hair, Castiel sifted his hand though it slightly. “Though, if you would like, I can still entertain you down here just fine.” His tone of voice was smooth and flirtatious, one of practiced tempo and inflection. According to Crowley, his deep voice was one of his “main attributes”.

               At first the woman sighed a little and looked down at her lap, as if put out. But her face quickly stretched into a smile as she looked back up again and nodded. “Sounds good.” Castiel returned his smile, nimbly taking the fifty dollar bill extended his way, before slinging a leg over the woman’s lap. Settling his weight onto her thighs, Castiel began rotating his hips, almost hovering over the woman. He frowned when she grinned slyly and reached up a hand and ran it down his neck and onto his chest. “No touching.” he ordered gently, moving the hand away.

               The woman pouted slightly, but behaved herself. Castiel continued the lap dance, occasionally carding his hand through her red hair or letting his hips brush against her stomach. At one point he wound both arms around her neck, leaning his forehead against hers, and he swore he could visually see her pulse skyrocket. Slowly he retracted his arms, letting them brush against hers. His hips and waist worked a rhythm against her legs, moving in circles to the beat of whatever music was playing lowly in the background. A small smile formed on his face, fueled by the girl’s and her friend’s reactions. He kept smoothly swiveling his hips, his ass barely brushing against the top of her thighs only once or twice.

               After it was done a couple minutes later, he slowly stood up- letting a hand run briefly down her cheek- with another twenty hastily stuffed into his pocket. He gave her a bright smile before turning away to move on. He continued his path through the club, pausing to smile as he passed Michael giving a particularly well-paying customer a hickey just below his collar. Michael winked in return over the man’s shoulder, using the movement to bite at the skin. Shaking his head, he took just a few more steps before freezing in place. There, in one of the darkest corners of the club, in a booth, was Dean Winchester. His brother was nowhere in sight, and from the single glass on the table in front of him, it looked like he had come here alone. _‘That wouldn’t make sense. It sounded like Dean had said that he wanted no part of this place.’_ It had, a first, made him feel a twinge of something- regret? Annoyance? But now… he wasn’t so sure.

               Looking around to see if Crowley- or a dancer like Zadkiel who always reported to Crowley anyway- was nearby, Castiel walked towards Dean, intent on finding out once and for all if he was accepting or not. He loathed not knowing. Unfortunately, he was heralded by a young man at the table behind and to the side of Dean’s booth before he could reach him. He sighed inwardly, stealing a glance at Dean as he slipped by on his way to the table. _‘Good- he didn’t see me.’_

               “Hi.” Castiel greeted, smiling softly as he came up to the table. The three looked to be college boys, not usually the type to come into the club. The one who had waved him down handed him seventy five dollars with a wink. “I would like some “private entertainment”, please.” he said, oozing confidence. Castiel swallowed another sigh, but nodded, tucking the bills into his pocket and settling down in the man’s lap.

               The dance was standard enough, including lots of hip movement and a few “lucky” brushes against bare skin. Soon enough, the guy was walking his fingers over Castiel’s shoulder. “The rules are no touching.” Castiel murmured, a bit harsher than he normally would be. He was already tired of tonight’s clientele, and he was eager to speak with Dean.

               But instead of listening, the man smirked, firmly planting his hands on Castiel’s stomach. “I’m the customer, so I’m always right, right?” he suggested. Castiel frowned, halting his movements. “No, not here- there are rules. Now stop, or I’ll get our bouncer to throw you out.” he intoned, hoping he could get some control over this. He hated having to get Hound involved and causing a scene.

               The man snorted, dropping his hands to Castiel’s waist with a surprisingly strong grip. “Nah, we’re good, aren’t we?” he replied, giving another wink. Castiel scowled at him, attempting to stand up or walk away. But the hands stayed where they were in an almost crushing grip, and he wasn’t going anywhere easily.

               “Stop.” he spat, looking up to catch Hound’s eye. Now the nearby tables were watching them, surprised at the rare occurrence. He had finally found Hound back by the bar, and he started making his way over, maneuvering his enormous frame between chairs and tables and bodies. Castiel resigned himself to another minute of groping, glaring daggers down at the smug ass in front of him. Suddenly, there was another presence to his left, and there was an unfamiliar harsh and angry growl in his ear. _“He said stop.”_

* * *

 

               Dean hadn’t thought when he’d briskly stormed over to the dim corner behind him, running on alcohol and adrenaline. Whatever Sam said about their father, he raised them with morals and respect. So when Dean heard someone getting harassed behind him, he didn’t hesitate to turn around and give them a piece of his mind. When he saw that that “someone” was Castiel, it just served to fan the flames even more. He’d probably regret the implications of this act in the morning when he was more sober, but he brushed off the thought impatiently. Helping people was one thing he would always be proud of doing.

               “He said stop.” he growled at the dude sitting smugly in the wooden chair. He still had hands clamped around Castiel’s bare sides, and was clearly a spoiled asshole fresh out of dad’s trust fund.  Castiel was obviously beyond irritated, with a deep scowl and hands clenched into fists by his sides. _‘He actually looks pretty damn tough with that face on. Kinda like… kill-you-with-one-hand tough.’_

               The guy raised an eyebrow, and his two friends on either side of him snickered. “Oh yeah? Well this is between me and him, ‘cause I certainly don’t see you palming any dough to the stripper.” All three of them started snickering again.

               Dean chuckled once. “Ah, right.” Then he lunged forward, grabbing the douche’s shirt collar. In his surprise he let go of Castiel, who took the opportunity to step back. Dean knew that there was now attention focused on them from every angle, and he hoped Hound wouldn’t have to come over here, and damnit he hadn’t wanted Crowley to know that he was here tonight but now there was no avoiding it. Leaning forward into his face, Dean hissed, “If people say stop, then you better damn stop what you’re doing, ask questions after. I don’t care if you’re “palming dough” for this, you act like a fucking human being. If I see you again you better hope you’ve got a fast way to get out of there.”

               After a moment of threatening glaring, Dean let go of the guy’s shirt. The guy coughed, straightening out his collar, attempting to keep his nonchalant attitude. “Yea, whatever, dude. We’re fucking outta here. It’s too fancy and shit for a club anyway.” His friends stood up and followed him to the door, and now Dean could see Hound hovering next to the wall behind them. Dean smirked a little to see all three guys skirt widely around the enormous body guard before shoving open the door.

               He took a deep breath, exhaling sharply, running a hand down his face. “You okay?” he asked, turning towards where Castiel was still standing right beside him. Castiel turned to look at him, bright blue eyes visible even in the dim club lighting, his hair looking like he just had wild sex, and his trench coat wide open to reveal a pretty damn amazing body. _‘Jesus fucking Christ.’_ he thought drunkenly, before firmly moving his eyes back up to Castiel's face.

               “Yes, I’m fine.” Castiel replied, and holy shit Dean did not remember how deep his voice was. “This sort of thing happens quite often, though usually Hound is quicker to intervene.” He paused, studying Dean’s face openly. “Thank you for helping.” he finished, dipping his head slightly.

               It took Dean a moment to formulate a response. “Oh, yeah, I just- uh, yeah, no problem.” He closed his eyes, silently berating himself for sounding so stupid. “I mean, I’m a firefighter, helping people is what I do. It was no problem.” Clearing his throat, he cut himself off before his booze-addled mind could ramble any further.

               Tilting his head, Castiel squinted his eyes, reminding Dean of a confused baby animal. Maybe a little puppy. _‘For fuck’s sake! Shut. Up!’_ “You’re Dean Winchester, correct?” Castiel asked, taking a step closer to give more room to a passing couple. The “angel” in the couple- who Dean remembered from the private room incident last week- gave Castiel a hip bump and a cheeky grin as he walked past with a definitely-over-thirty brunette wrapped around him.

               “Yea.” he answered distractedly, wondering how the dark-haired dancer wasn’t tripping on his way up the stairs with an octopus clinging to him. Focusing his attention back on Castiel, he was surprised to find him even closer; way closer than normal conversations would merit. “And you’re Castiel, right?” Castiel nodded once, not removing his gaze once from Dean’s face. There was a beat of awkward silence, which Dean tried to fill. “That’s a mouthful. I’m just gonna call you Cas.” he awkwardly added.

               At that, Cas blinked, tilting his head again. “It’s a good nickname. Much better than what Balthazar and Gabriel call me. “Cassie”.” He shook his head, making a face of distaste. Dean blinked, forcing down all of the surprising and unbidden memories that came along with that name. Hours and days and months of memories… that were clearly classified as “never think about again, too involved and intense”. He hoped this wasn’t some god’s fucked up version of karma. He also hoped that his face had remained more in control than his thoughts. But Cas hadn’t seemed to notice a thing, as he looked like he was waiting for a reply to a question. That Dean hadn’t heard. _‘Shit.’_

               Seeing Dean’s confused look, Cas patiently repeated, “I said, when are you going to give Crowley an answer?” And if that didn’t put Dean’s already unstable mood down the toilet.... He sighed, scrubbing a hand through his hair. “Look, man, I don’t know. I don’t even know what my answer is.”

               Cas nodded slightly, a small frown on his features. “I see. Well, even though I don’t know how much it will mean coming from someone you barely know, I really do think you should accept Crowley’s offer. It’s a good place here.” He lifted his right hand and placed it on Dean’s shoulder; a solid weight. “He gave me a place when I needed it most. Perhaps one day I could tell you my story.” And just like that, he was gone, stepping back into the moving throng of people.

               Groaning, Dean dropped into the booth a couple steps behind him, his head falling into his hands. What the fuck was that supposed to mean? Did this club and the people inside it only exist to make his mind do contortions around itself? He wasn’t sure if he believed in a higher power, but this had to be the work of some kind of dickbag deity who was the god of Screwing-With-Dean-Winchester. _‘I need another drink.’_


	9. A Night of Bad Decisions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As usual, many thanks to my awesome beta <3
> 
> All fanart, plot ideas, and opinions on ships, etc are welcome :)
> 
> So sorry about the lags in updates, I got a new job and my schedule is ridiculous :P

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* * *

 

            When Dean woke up the next morning, he immediately regretted opening his eyes. Colors and lights swirled around blearily, making his already pounding head feel like a herd of elephants was doing a marathon through his gray matter. His mouth tasted worse than Bobby’s cooking, and he had to piss like a racehorse. It looked like he was in the same clothes as last night, he didn’t remember how he got here, and stomach was practicing contortionism apparently. Overall, he felt like shit.

            Dean Winchester didn’t get hangovers. He’d been drinking beer since the time he hit double digits, and hard liquor since before he could drive. But, apparently, the equivalent of an entire bottle of whiskey within two hours was beyond his limit. Moaning and pressing the heels of his hands into his eyes, he quickly tried to run through the events of last night.

            The last thing he remembered clearly… was heading back from the bar, the rest of the bottle of whiskey in his hand. He had sat there through the performances, and even through most of the floor time. Until… he groaned at his stupidity, recalling in flashes the three college guys he had almost beaten up over Castiel. Or Cas, as he had drunkenly deemed him. So much for trying to be apathetic about the dancers if he was already trying to fight people for one of them. That just send out a shining beacon over him. ‘Dean Winchester, Defender of Strippers.’

            Everything around and after that event was mostly a blur, though he remembered leaving soon after. He wasn’t sure if he was glad that he had taken a taxi back, or incredibly pissed that his Baby was still sitting in the alleyway outside of the club. He was leaning more towards the latter. It had been a while since he’d been that drunk.

            Why did he ever think that going to a place where, as he has come to find out, he has severely confused feelings about, and getting insanely drunk- alone- was a good idea? When he wanted to get drunk, he got  _drunk_ , and often- like now- he had trouble recalling specifics. Which usually-  _especially_ like right now- really would have been appreciated. No wonder Sam always said how he had to keep him in line when they went out to bars.

            Well. That was a spectacularly shitty way to spend a night. What day was it today? Friday?  _‘Damnit!’_ Dean had work at Bobby’s at eleven thirty, and he didn’t even have a car. What time was it? He looked around the living room, squinting against the sunlight streaming in through the window. They really needed to get a clock in here or something.

            Squeezing his eyes shut and gritting his teeth, he forced himself to stand up. He felt the room sway dangerously around him, and his stomach did a jump worthy of a skydiver. Dean slowly opened his eyes, taking a breath once he didn’t feel like recoloring the carpet of the living room. Shuffling down the hall to the tiny bathroom, he turned on the light, immediately screwing his eyes shut once again. When tiny needles weren’t being stabbed into his corneas, he opened them to look at his reflection.

             _‘Well, if I feel like shit, then I look like a plane crash.’_ He winced at the dark shadows under his eyes and the drool on his chin. Rubbing his face, he used the other hand to attempt to bring some order to his hair. A dark spot on his neck caught his eye, and he froze, finger drifting down from his hair to trace over the bruise.  _‘What the fuck?’_  Who the  _hell_  had he let give him that? He didn’t remember hooking up with any women last night…. Of course, there always were the dancers….  _‘Shitfuck. This is bad.’_

First thing was first, though- he needed a shower and to change out of yesterday’s clothes. Shrugging out of his jacket and t-shirt, he heard Sam trip over something outside, probably just waking up. “Sam- what time did I get home?’ Dean called hoarsely, wincing at the loudness.

            A moment later Sam popped his head through the door, giving no thought to the fact that Dean was half naked. “Oh, good! I thought you had died!” he said cheerfully.

            Rolling his eyes, Dean replied, “Haha, so funny. Seriously, though, I actually can’t remember.” Turning back to the mirror, he made a face, scratching his shoulder. He  _hated_ not being able to remember things. He needed control over his life, and this was not helping at all.

            Smirking, Sam said, “About one. You tripped twice on the way to the coach. Luckily I was still up, so I could prevent you from braining yourself on a table or something.”

            Dean frowned without looking at him. “What time is it?” He fingered the hickey on his neck again, his brow furrowed.

            Leaning against the doorway, Sam answered, “Ten.”

            “Right. Good.” So he still had time before he had to go to work. Although he’s not sure he could keep anything down besides coffee at this point. “Why aren’t you at school?” Dean asked, undoing his belt from his jeans.

            “It’s Friday, remember? My class doesn’t start till noon today.” came the response.  _‘Right.’_ Sam then continued, “Nice hickey, by the way.”

            Immediately slapping a hand over it, Dean turned and glared at Sam, hissing, “Shut up.”

            Sam’s smirk grew bigger, and he raised his hands, standing up straight. “Hey, I don’t judge. Did Castiel give it to you?” Dean slammed the door shut on him, though the giggles could still be heard through the thin wood. As he yanked on the shower curtains and turned the water on the hottest setting (which was only lukewarm anyway), Dean realized that he had never told Sam where he had gone. So how did he know that he had gone back to the club?

* * *

             Sam laughed to himself all the way back to the kitchen, a bit smug at how irritated he had managed to make Dean within a few minutes. He hadn’t meant to reveal to Dean that he knew about the strip club, but so far it looked like Dean hadn’t even picked up on that. Hey, it wasn’t Sam’s fault that Dean had come in here- stumbling drunk- muttering about the club and “Cas”. It had taken every ounce of will that Sam had not to simply drop Dean on the floor and go to bed laughing, and Sam was taking his time enjoying it now.

             _Sitting at the kitchen table, Sam was clicking away at his laptop, finishing up an assignment for his Ethics class. Everything was quiet in the small apartment, the only sounds the tapping of keys and the humming of the old fridge. Dean had left a note, saying that he had “gone out” and would be back by midnight.  It was almost one though, and Sam was confused. Dean never just left, especially without telling Sam where he went. He had already tried Dean’s cell, but he hadn’t picked up._

_Suddenly, there was a thump at the door, like someone had fallen onto it. Sam jumped, the loud noise startling him. Walking quickly to the door, Sam looked through the peephole, frowning when he saw the familiar spiky hair of his older brother. He opened the door, hurriedly throwing out an arm to catch Dean as he sagged inwards when the support disappeared. “Dean?” he asked, concerned. It wouldn’t be the first time Dean staggered back home, injured or bleeding from a fight or something…._

_As he kicked the door shut, half dragging Dean away from it, Dean’s head suddenly shot up, and he grabbed Sam’s collar. His eyes were wide and bleary, and his breath reeked of alcohol. “Sam… the club… I almost… guy a hit. Wait… no… I almost hit a guy. Yea.” Sam could see that Dean was piss drunk, and his previous concern evaporated, replaced with annoyance and slight amusement._

_“Yea yea yea, let’s get you inside, hm?” Sam replied, bodily moving Dean towards the couch. Dean protested weakly, swatting at Sam’s arms as he slid over the carpet. He kept up a steady stream of mumbling, which Sam chose to ignore. It had been a while since Sam had to deal with a completely fucked-over Dean, and he had hoped that he had outgrown this sort of thing. Sam had. But, of course, since Dean was the most emotionally constipated person he knew, it figured he’d rather get completely hammered instead of face his problems._

_When Sam had finally wrestled Dean onto the couch, he kneeled down next to him with a sigh. “So, what were you saying about the club?” he asked, not needing to feign interest. As soon as Dean had mentioned the club, Sam’s ears had perked up. What was Dean doing back at the club? Sam had been planning to go Saturday night to talk to Crowley, to arrange his schedule and what-not. Did Dean say something to Crowley about it?_

_Dean, with his eyes closed, slurred, “Oh yeah. Um… I wen’ back to the club. I’ was pre’y nice. I drank a lot. Balthy has good booze. Saw Cas… he did really good. Bu’… I almos’ punched a guy out ‘cause he was touchin’ Cas an’ Cas didn’t wan’ him to. Then I drank sommore an’ then I came home.” He nodded, satisfied he’d gotten out the whole story. It was obvious from his increasingly incoherent talking that the conversation was over, and Sam wasn’t getting anything else out of him._

_As Dean shifted to get more comfortable on the couch, Sam sat back on his heels, digesting the story. So… Dean had gone back to the club? Not only without him, but while trying to keep it from him? Why would he do that? What was he hiding? Again, he was torn between irritation over being left out of the loop, and amusement at seeing the disheveled and concerned state of his brother. As his eyes alighted on a certain dark mark sucked onto his throat, Sam snorted, slapping a hand onto his mouth to keep it from waking Dean. Shaking his head, he stood up and walked back to his computer, committing this to memory for future blackmail material._

            Leaning against the counter, Sam took a swig from his glass of water, listening to Dean cursing lowly in the shower. Sam knew Dean better than anyone else, and he could tell that Dean had gone to the club and gotten so drunk for a reason. His brother knew how to handle his liquor, and that he got wasted said tons about his current state of mind. It was a bit worrying, but Sam was going to get to the bottom of this. As soon as Dean had some coffee.

             Sam sat alone in the kitchen, mulling over his thoughts, for the next few minutes. Soon enough Dean came out of the bathroom with a towel wrapped around him, heading into the bedroom to get changed. As he quickly got a cup of coffee ready for him, Sam called out, “Do you want any food?” Not that he could cook much more besides rough scrambled eggs. And he was pretty sure they were out of eggs….

             “No.” Dean yelled back, thumping around the other room. Sam smirked in light relief, pouring the hot instant coffee into a mug. Turning around, he held it out to Dean as he walked into the kitchen, smiling slightly. Giving a nod of thanks, Dean took it, slumping into a chair.

              The best way to do this was jump right in. Dean was too obtuse to understand subtle hints, and catching him off guard had worked in the past. Skirting around the table, Sam slipped into the seat across from Dean, watching as he drank. He looked less like a zombie now after his shower, which was good he supposed. He was probably hung over as all get out, but that was his own fault. As soon as Dean had finished his first gulp, Sam pounced. “So, why did you go back to the club last night?”

               Dean coughed loudly, choking on his coffee.  _‘Whoops. Guess he hadn’t finished.’_ Glaring at Sam, Dean said, “How did you even know that’s where I went?”

               Sam shrugged, grinning mischievously. The look on Dean’s face would be priceless. “You told me. Last night. When I had to drag you across the apartment onto the couch.”

                He wasn’t disappointed. Dean froze, his eyes wide, face going blank. “Oh. Great.” he said sarcastically, taking another sip from his coffee. Sam waited for something else- like an answer to his question, maybe- but Dean stayed silent, staring down at his coffee like it held the mysteries of the universe.  _‘Why did I have to be cursed with such a rock for a brother?’_

               Grunting in annoyance, Sam leaned over and hit Dean on the arm. “Hey. I asked you a question, jerk.”

              “Bitch.” Dean muttered. Then he sighed, rubbing his face. “Look, I just… I needed to go again. Without you there. I needed to… check it out, see more of it. Because I promised you that I would.” He looked at Sam with widened eyes, hands spread out.

                Sam swallowed, looking down.  _‘Well. That’s new.’_ So… Dean had gone out to the club to investigate more, because he was actually taking Sam’s plea into consideration? A little burst of warmth settled in Sam’s chest at his brother’s antics. Dean was honestly trying, in his own way. Yea, Dean had always done everything he could for Sam, but this was almost more than he had ever done.

                He knew that Sam actually wanted to try this out, and even though he hated it, he was willing to go and suffer through it. For Sam. Still examining the table, Sam grinned to himself. Yea, he was a pain in the ass, but Dean was  _his_ pain in the ass. Of course, if he ever said something that cheesy out loud, Dean would probably just hit him instead of reciprocating like a normal person.

                Glancing up quickly, Sam merely said, “And?”

                 Dean was silent for a moment. At first, Sam thought that he wasn’t going to get an answer. But, giving his brother the benefit of the doubt, he remained silent as well, waiting a moment before he would groan loudly with frustration and possibly hit him again. Finally, Dean said quietly, “Yea. I made my decision.”

                 His head shooting up, Sam’s mouth dropped open. He had expected something along the lines of ‘A fucking stripper tried to give me a lap dance so I had to leave. I’m never going back there again.’ But this…. “Woah… you actually made a choice while you were getting shit-faced?” he asked incredulously, if not a little bit sarcastically.

                 A mocking glare was sent his way. “Yes, Mr. Research and Study. I know how to work with alcohol.” Dean sniped, finishing the last of his coffee. Sighing, he leaned back in his chair. “And I decided… that I’ll come with you. I’ll accept the job. But first sign of a cougar trying to grope me and I’m out.” he grumbled, crossing his arms.

                  Sam laughed once, face breaking into a huge smile. He couldn’t believe Dean was agreeing to this- it was so much better than what he had expected. “Really? Dean, this is great! When are we gonna go tell Crowley?” he asked, leaning forward onto the table. How was he supposed to go to class now, when this new information just sent him buzzing? This was gonna be a long day.

                 Dean made a face, but Sam could see that he was at least a little bit glad that his decision was finally made. “I guess we’ll go tonight. After we eat.” he answered, toying with the handle of his mug. Sam beamed, nodding his head. There was one last thing he had to get out of this conversation for it to be perfect.

                 “One more question.” Sam added, attempting to keep a straight face, probably not doing a very good job of it. Dean nodded, already looking suspicious. This was too good; Sam would have ammunition for at least three weeks. “Did ‘Cas’ give you a hickey anywhere below the belt, too?”

                   Scowling impressively as he reddened, Dean ground out, “Shut up. Just go to school, asshole.” For effect, he threw a discarded pen at Sam’s head. Laughing, Sam ducked it, jumping up and running away from the table. He grabbed his backpack from his doorway on his way to the front door.

                  “Don’t forget to go to work!” Sam prompted, checking his texts to see if Jess was here yet. A loud groan and a curse from behind him showed that Dean had already forgotten about Bobby’s garage today. Again, it was his own fault; he wouldn’t get any pity from Sam. His phone  _ding_ ed in his hand.

_Jess: <here>_

                   “Alright, I’m leaving. See you later- no backing out!” Sam yelled as he walked out the door. Dean made some noise of agreement, already digging through the drawers in the bedroom to change into something better for work. As Sam jogged up to Jess’s car, he couldn’t help but smile more.  _‘I knew Dean would eventually agree.’_

                    As he slid in, Jess greeted him with a kiss. “Hey- you seem happy.” she commented. Sam reached over and took her hand, running his thumb along her knuckles. Yea, you could say that. Finally, something was going right in their crappy lives. This would be their chance to get more money, possibly move out of their dingy apartment, and maybe Sam could even get his own car for the first time in his life. The possibilities ran through his head, proving his earlier thought that today would go by extremely slow.

                   “You won’t believe what happened last night….”

* * *

                      As the day went on, Dean found that he was strangely relaxed about that night. He had thought that he would be anxious and worried, but as it got closer to quitting time at Bobby’s, he felt a sense of calm spread through him. The closest thing he could compare it to was the icy calm before a fight.  _‘Huh. I guess that’s close enough to the truth.’_ He didn’t quite understand why, but he didn’t want to take time to examine it. He was too busy focusing on what he was going to say to Crowley tonight, and trying not to focus on the smug and cocksure look that was surely going to be on his face.  _‘Slimy bastard.’_

                      Even Bobby noticed his head wasn’t in the right place. Dean was packing up his tools, getting ready to go home and cook up a quick dinner, when Bobby ambled over. “Everythin’ alright, boy?” he asked, handing Dean a wrench he had left on the hood of a car.

                      Dean looked up, not even hearing that Bobby had approached. “What? Yea, I’m fine. I just….” He trailed off as he shoved the last few things in his bag. Sighing, he ran a dirty hand through his hair, the sweat and grim making it stand up even more. This was not a conversation he had wanted to have- it felt way too awkward telling Bobby these things. He had already said that he didn’t really care one way or another, but now that it was a sure thing, would he change his mind? Berate Dean? Be disgusted with both of them? “Sam and I are gonna take the job. At the club.” he blurted out, not looking at Bobby.

                       The only response was a low hum. Dean risked a glance at Bobby, who looked unruffled, nodding slightly. Seeing the look on Dean’s face, Bobby snorted. “Look, boy, like I told ya before. I don’t give a damn what you two boys do in yer free time. Yer two fully grown men, you can make yer own decision. As long as you come to work, don’t forget to call me every so often, and don’t get any weird piercings on yer dick, all I can say is: have fun.”

                        Dean chuckled, shaking his head slightly. The twisting spot of anxiety that had appeared as Bobby came over faded away, leaving him even calmer than before. There really was nothing preventing him from doing this… it all seemed a little bit surreal. Maybe that’s why he was so calm- he was still in denial or something…. “You never fail to surprise me, old man.”

                       “And don’t you forget it.” Bobby responded, walking back towards his house with a wave and a grin. Dean waved back, before shouldering his bag and jogging to the Impala. It was already 6:30, so Sam would already be on his way home, and he had to get home and make dinner. So that they could go to the strip club. And get jobs. Exhaling sharply, Dean got in the car and started home.

                     Who could blame him if he was still somewhat worried about this? Just because his body wasn’t reacting to the stress didn’t mean his mind wasn’t working overdrive. There were a million and one ways that this could go wrong and blow up in all of their faces. There were still so many unknowns; so many things left to figure out. They honestly barely knew anything about the club or the people in it, and there they were, jumping headfirst into it. It was definitely unlike them to do this. Their dad had taught them better than that.

                      Dean’s knuckles turned white around the steering wheel at that thought. Yea, their dad had taught them. He’d taught them everything: how to properly drink booze, how to scam everything from pool games to credit card companies, how to shoot a gun or throw a knife, and how to track someone’s whereabouts. They knew how to stake out a house, how to pick locks and sneak into buildings, and how to survive on the run with no money, food, or shelter. They were taught how to  _survive_.

                      Their dad had taught them everything but how to  _live_.

                     Dean couldn’t remember the last time he’d had a real home before their shitty little apartment. He couldn’t remember the last birthday celebration that he’d had with anyone but Sam. He couldn’t remember ever being told as a child that everything would be okay, that he was safe. That had all died along with Mary Winchester.

                       Angrily shaking his head, Dean hit the steering wheel once, irritated that he’d sunk into memories of his dad. He didn’t often do it, and he refused to talk about it to Sam, but sometimes they came out of nowhere, like now, and he had to drag his mind away from the pit. They weren’t happy memories, but they were all he had left of his life besides Sam. John Winchester may have been cruel and unhappy, but he was still their father, and they owed their lives to him.

_‘Yea, but it doesn’t mean I have to like the way he did it.’_

                       Firmly turning up his music, he spent the rest of the ride trying to get lost in the fast drum beats and harsh guitar streaks of ACDC. It worked… for the most part. It didn’t help his mood that the door to the apartment stuck when he tried to open it, and he had to spend four minutes outside trying to shoulder it open. By the time he got inside and found that he did not, in fact, have any frozen pizza like he thought, he was in a black mood.

                        Fifteen minutes and a handful of healthy cursing later, Sam walked in as Dean was finishing up some makeshift stir fry. As in, it was rice, soy sauce, and chicken in a big pan. Close enough. “Hey, Dean.” Sam greeted, grabbing a glass of water. Dean just grunted in reply, and he could practically feel Sam’s eye roll from behind him.

                        Dinner was mostly silent, with Sam trying to make stilted conversation and getting more and more irritated with his older brother’s monosyllabic answers and lingering scowl. Dean honestly didn’t care- his previous calm at joining the club had returned in full force with his anger this afternoon, and he was in no mood to talk. Sam could definitely see that, but it seemed he had enough.

                       “Dean. What’s wrong?” There was a beat of silence before Sam continued at a lower volume, “Is it the club?” Dean’s eyes flashed up to him from where his face was balanced on his hand, seeing actual concern on his little brother’s face. Of course Sam would want to talk about it. He was a total girl when it came to emotions.

                         Dean laughed once dryly. “Yea, you could say that. Can’t blame me, though, right?” He could hear it himself that he didn’t sound too convincing. Sam’s raised eyebrow bitch-face proved that. Dean snorted, letting his hand thump against the table. “Okay, yea, it is the club. Also there’s the fact that I thought about Dad today for the first time in a while. That, combined with the door sticking on me and having no goddamn pizza, and I’m ready to punch something.” he snapped, glaring at Sam.

                          Sam seemed unfazed. “What about Dad?”

                         Of course he would pick up on that part. It figured. There was a reason Dean hadn’t wanted to say anything. Shaking his head, he responded, “Nuh-uh. We are  _not_ having this conversation. It’s done and over with.” He looked back down at his mostly empty plate, pushing around a few grains of rice.

                         “Dean.  _Dean_.” At Sam’s insistent words, Dean looked back up. “Look, we don’t have to talk about it, okay? Just… don’t shut me out and act all pissy with me if you won’t even let me help. Okay?” He stared hard at Dean until he got a hesitant nod in return. “Okay. Now… what time is it?” he asked.

                          Dean glanced at the clock over the sink. “Seven thirty.” He made  a face at the clock, knowing what was coming next.

                          Sam grinned impishly. “Then let’s go get ourselves some jobs.”

 


	10. Do I Even Have a Social Security Number?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry sorry sorry! I know this is a week late but time keeps getting away from me :P But, this is the longest chapter yet, so enjoy!!
> 
> Many thanks as always to my lovely beta :)
> 
> Any ideas on plots, ships, etc as well as fanart and gifsets are always welcome!

**Follow[me on Tumblr](lokisays.tumblr.com) for updates and visual guides! [NEW VISUAL GUIDE- CALENDAR!](http://tasertricks.co.vu/post/77655652116)        **

* * *

               The drive to the club was filled with an electric silence, each brother amped up in their own way about the upcoming night. Sam was still optimistic; the possibilities seemed endless to him. He was exited and a bit nervous, wondering what went on behind the scenes at the club, what the dancers were like, and whether or not they would fit in.

               Dean, on the other hand, was mostly nervous, or anxious. His brief surety of the morning had evaporated, and now he felt like he had a swarm of bees in his stomach. Angry bees. Like bees that were attacking Dean for taking their honey. Or if Dean had- _'Okay, I should probably stop with the bee analogy.'_ The point was, Dean was feeling more and more like backing out of the plan by the minute, and the only thing stopping him was sitting right next to him, drumming his fingers on one knee and bouncing the other one up and down. "You excited?" Dean asked, poking around for a shred of doubt to use.

               Sam turned, sending a small grin. "Yea, Dean, a bit. It's a totally new experience for us. You know, I bet this would be a great topic to write a paper on for my Sociology class...."

Dean grimaced, both at the cheery attitude and the idea of their new job being spread around an Ivy League. No one else needed to know about this. "Alright. Cool." was all he said, keeping his eyes fixed ahead.

               The majority of the drive, however, was spent in silence. Eventually, about half way there, Dean turned some music on, Metallica's "Wherever I May Roam" leaking out of the speakers.

               As Dean swung into the alleyway by the club, he glanced at the clock on the dashboard. 8:10- there left plenty of time to get everything done and to get out of here before the club actually opened.

               Realizing Sam had already gotten out of the car, Dean jumped out, locking the door behind him. Jogging across the street, he caught up to his brother right as Sam knocked loudly on the metal door. It was silent for a moment, and the brothers shared a look before Sam tentatively knocked again.

               A good thirty seconds went by before they heard footsteps, and they stepped back, Sam not wanting to be in the way, and Dean not wanting to be near Hound. As the door swung open, though, they saw that it was only Balthazar, dressed in a sky blue tee shirt and dark jeans. "Hello! What can I do for you?" he charmed, his smile slightly too wide to be sincere.

               "Uh, hi." Sam replied. "We're here to see Crowley." He shifted slightly, running a hand through his hair.

               Balthazar squinted at him, tilting his head. "I see. Good for you." was his only response. He smiled again, seemingly content to sit there in the doorway all night long.

               Dean rolled his eyes. "That means let us in to talk to Crowley, asshole." He ignored Sam's bitchface in favor of glaring at Balthazar.

               The blonde was unfazed. He sighed, sliding to the side. "So needy." he complained as Sam and Dean walked in. "Making poor Balthazar have to help you." he continued, shoving the door closed. It was dim inside, the few lights on the ceiling glowing softly.

               "Poor my ass." Dean muttered user his breath. Louder, he asked, "So where can we find Crowley?" He paced ahead, staring at all of the shiny and clean leather and mahogany surrounding them. If Dean didn't know any better, he'd say this place looked like a hotel conference room or something. Very neat and matchy-matchy.

               Upstairs and all the down the hall." Balthazar directed, sighing dramatically again. He walked away to continue setting up the bar, while Sam and Dean started up the stairs. Once they reached the office door, Sam knocked, with Dean hovering behind him. A muffled "Come in." sounded and they walked in.

               The office hadn't changed at all; the same stacks of paper were on the edges of the desk, and the same scotch bottles were on the floor by Crowley's chair. “Moose, squirrel- what can I do for you?” Crowley greeted, giving them a cursory look. If you asked Dean, it looked like the douchebag already knew why they were here and was giving them a hard time. _‘What a surprise.’_ The brothers sat in the soft leather seats, Crowley looked expectantly at them.

              “We’re accepting your job offer.” Sam jumped ahead of Dean, preventing him from saying anything damaging. “Both of us.” he added, seeing Crowley’s eyes dart over to Dean. Dean gave Crowley a tight smile, one that clearly said, _‘By the way, fuck you’_. Sam barely managed to keep his eyes from rolling at the obvious hostility radiating from his older brother. It was obvious to him that even though Dean had said that he had made his final decision, he obviously still wasn’t happy with it.

               Crowley smiled largely, standing up from the large leather chair. The brothers hurriedly stood up as well, both towering over the club owner. “Excellent! You made the right choice, if I do say so myself. Glad to have you on the team!” He shook Sam’s hand first with a cheery wink, and then Dean’s, and in that shake both men probably squeezed harder than what was necessary. “Now, let me just get the paperwork and some glasses, eh?”

               As Crowley bent down behind his desk and started digging through a drawer, Dean shot Sam a look. _‘This is all your fault, and if anything bad happens, I’m blaming you entirely.’_ Sam’s returning bitch face clearly stated, _‘Stop being such a pussy and get over it.’_ Then the two resorted to glaring at each other, Dean even going so far as to aim a kick at Sam’s leg, until Crowley resurfaced from behind the stained oak desk. The boys, Sam sending a final dagger-glare at Dean, snapped their attention back to their new boss.

              "Alrighty.” Crowley said, handing out each form as he spoke of it. “This form is just a simple information sheet- contact information, date of birth, social security, et cetera et cetera. This one is the tax paper- I don’t even remember what it’s called- but make it look official. This one is bank information- your paychecks are direct deposit, of course. And this one is a waiver, in case you get injured twirling your pretty behinds around on that pole.” he finished with a smirk, sliding over two pens.

              With a sigh, Dean started in on the paper work, clicking his pen relentlessly as he read it. _‘Social security number?’_ He wasn’t even sure if he officially had one of those. Leaving that blank, he shrugged, figuring a strip club shouldn’t have that info anyway. He filled out the rest of the form, even going so far as to write down his real birthdate and phone numbers. Dean paused again as he reached the tax form. He hadn’t exactly been filling out tax forms and such while living in his car, or even their shitty two-room apartment. It was probably a bad thing, but did he care? _‘Not really.’_ He filled it out as best as he could, hoping it wouldn’t come back to bite him in the ass. The bank paper was easier, as he had just opened the account two and a half years ago for Sam’s tuition. Coming to the waiver, he raised an eyebrow at it. This was Sam’s thing, all this legal, lawyer-y stuff.

             He glanced at Sam to his right, seeing him reading the waiver too. A minute passed by before Sam nodded to himself and signed it. Dean turned back and signed his too, since Sam knew his shit. Tapping the papers into an even stack on the desk, Dean slid them back over to Crowley, and they were followed a moment later by Sam’s.

             Crowley scooped the papers up, grinning once again. “Wonderful.” he proclaimed, handing them each a tumbler of scotch. He toasted them before they drank, and Dean once again had to admit that Crowley had damn good taste in liquor. “Now that all of the legal jargon is out of the way, it’s on to more practical stuff.” Crowley announced, leaning forward slightly on the desk. “Scheduling and training.”

             Sam cleared his throat, half-raising his hand like he was in class. “Well, I’m still in school, so during the week might not work very well.”

             Crowley nodded slightly. “Well, when are your classes?” he asked.

             “Basically one to five Monday, Wednesday, and Friday; and noon to three Tuesday and Thursday.” Sam replied.

             Seemingly satisfied, Crowley assuaged, “I can work with that.” He turned to Dean. “And I assume you work every day?”

             Dean nodded. “Yea, pretty much. I usually just work whenever Sam’s in school. I have Mondays off, though.”

             Nodding again, Crowley sat back with steepled fingers, obviously thinking. “Alright, so I’ll have you train four to eight Saturday, Sunday, Tuesday, and Thursday, here at the club. Does that work for everyone?” Sam and Dean nodded. “Marvelous. We’ll train you for about two weeks, and then we’ll put you out on the floor and see how you do.” The boys nodded again.

             As it became more real, Dean felt uneasy again. The feeling of sky diving without a parachute, not knowing where you were going to land or how successful the jump would be, would probably be remarkably similar. Sam seemed perfectly content to throw himself head first into this, much like when he had first decided he had wanted to go to Stanford. Yet Dean didn’t do well with change, and this was a hell of a change. But still, for Sam’s sake, he plastered on a smile and shook Crowley’s hand again.

            The three stood up, and Dean had his hand on the door when Crowley’s voice stopped him. “Now, before you go, I want you boys to stay here for a bit. I want to introduce you to all of my dancers, as they should be getting here any minute.” Crowley said, placing a hand on each Winchester’s shoulder as he walked over to them. Dean swallowed a sigh, wanting to go home to prepare himself for what was sure to be a hellish day tomorrow.

           Sam, however, responded, “Yea, sure. Lead the way.” Crowley left first, followed closely by Sam, and then slower by Dean. They walked down the short hallway and climbed down the spiral staircase, but instead of going off onto the main floor of the club, Crowley continued down the stairs. The journey ended in a plain looking hallway, with four doors on either side.

           Gesturing before him, Crowley guided, “These are the dressing rooms. They’re a bit unimpressive, I'm afraid, but they’re furnished with comfortable chairs and complete bathrooms, so they’re pleasant enough.” He walked down the hallway and tapped on a couple of the closed doors, frowning when there was no answer. “Bollocks. I tell these idiots to be here by eight thirty, but I’ll be buggered if they ever show up on time.” he muttered.

            Dean wasn’t really listening. He was busy exploring his new surroundings. Strolling over to the first door on the left, he was surprised to find it unlocked. Inside were two white leather chairs, each on either side in front of a huge counter and mirror. The mirrors took up both of the side walls, and on the back wall there was a door to what Dean assumed was the bathroom. Overall, the room looked clean and shiny, and it was brightly lit by large bare bulbs across the top of the mirrors. He shrugged a bit- he’d definitely had worse working _and_ living conditions.

           “Ah, Castiel! Thank you for actually being on time.” Crowley’s greeting behind him made Dean stiffen. Swallowing, he turned around and shut the door, eyes flying to the newest addition to their party. Cas was dressed normally, albeit stiffly, in dark blue jeans and a navy blue sweater, and had a bag slung over one shoulder. Bright blue eyes shifted to Dean, and Dean managed a small wave.

              “Hello, Dean.” Cas replied, the tiniest of smiles on his face as he inclined his head. “Sam.” he added, turning to nod at Sam. Returning his gaze to Crowley, he said, “Usually I am the first one here. The rest usually come within half an hour, though Gabriel and Lucifer most likely won’t arrive for another hour.”

            Rolling his eyes, Crowley muttered, “Of course they would. No matter- I have some paperwork to do. Make sure these two don’t do anything stupid.” Cas nodded seriously, eyes straying back to Dean, this time staying there. Dean fidgeted under the stare, feeling like Cas could see right through him, pick him apart with just that bright blue gaze. It made him uncomfortable and confused and he’d have to talk to Cas about that because _wow_ it was weird the way he just didn’t blink.

            Dean’s attention was dragged back as Crowley offered a goodbye as he climbed back up the stairs. Giving a late wave, Dean blew out a breath in the silence that followed the owner’s departure. Cas continued to stare at Dean, who shifted on his feet, and Sam stood off to the side, eyes flicking between the two. He cleared his throat, green and blue eyes snapping to him. “So, which one is your room?” Sam prompted.

            “Of course. This way.” Castiel responded, turning and walking to the end of the hallway. Sam and Dean followed behind, hands stuffed into their pockets. At the very end of the hall Cas paused, gesturing to the door on the left. “This is my room, and I share it with Gabriel.” He then gestured to the room on the right. “This is your room, as I assume you will be using it together.”

             Dean surveyed the blank door, realizing that on all of the other doors, there were dark brown, wooden plaques, each with two names engraved on them in gold leaf. “There’s no plaque.” he observed, hand brushing the blank white wood.

         “It was… taken down.” Cas deadpanned as he unlocked his own door.

        “Why?” Sam wondered.

         Cas paused, deliberating. He wasn’t sure what they knew. If Crowley had not yet told them, then they deserved to know the truth, yet he didn’t want to scare them. “The dancers who used that room are gone.” he stated simply, watching for their reaction, hoping that that was it.

         “Why?” Dean persisted, sensing that something wasn’t quite right here. Cas was obviously not telling them something, and it set Dean on edge.

          There was silence as Cas stared at Dean. This time, Dean didn’t look away, showing Cas that he really wanted to know the answer. The staring contest went on, and just as Sam was about to intervene, Cas finally responded. “They were murdered.”

 _‘What the fuck.’_ Dean thought in shock. “I’m sorry- _murdered?_ ” Dean repeated.

         “Yes.” Cas replied solemnly.

          Sam and Dean looked at each other, eyes wide and brows raised. “It would have been nice to know that beforehand.” Sam murmured, rubbing at his jaw. Dean scoffed and nodded in agreement.

          Cas held his hands out in front of him. “I’m sorry, I wasn’t sure if Crowley had told you yet. Obviously he hasn’t. But that was two weeks ago, and nothing has happened since. We think it was an isolated incident.”

          Dean groaned, running a hand through his hair. “Great. You _think_. Does that mean you haven’t caught someone yet?” At Cas’s hesitant head shake, Dean scoffed again, half turning towards Sam, as if to say _‘Look at what you did’_. “Figures. Of course there’s a catch.”

         Cas stepped forward, placing a hand on Dean’s shoulder, turning him back around. “I promise you, this is a safe place. Nothing will happen to your or your brother.” Dean still looked angry and skeptical, but at least he calmed down a touch. “Now, the others will be here shortly.” he continued, quickly reaching in his room and placing his bag on the counter before returning to the hallway.

         Rolling his eyes, Dean followed Sam and Cas back up the hallway, where they loitered about the bottom of the staircase. It was a tense silence that enveloped them, though Cas seemed perfectly content to wait for the next hour without saying a single thing. Dean leaned back against the wall, letting his head thump against the white cinder block. Sam, shooting a watered-down bitchface at Dean, turned to Cas. "So, Castiel, how long have you worked here?" he posed, hoping to break the silence.

          Cas replied, "Since it opened, in late August." And then it was back to the silence. _'I guess Cas isn't so good with this whole socializing thing._ ' Dean thought with a sigh, crossing his arms. God he hated sitting around.

        As if in answer to his prayers, loud footsteps suddenly sounded down the stairs, and all three of the men at the bottom sharply turned their heads towards the noise. An incredibly large, blonde man appeared at the top of the stairs, face blank as he descended. Behind him came another man, with short black hair and an angular face.

       “Dean, Sam, this is Camael and Michael. Camael and Michael, these are the Winchesters.” Cas said by way of introduction. The brothers gave small waves.

        Recognition and understanding showed on their faces. “Oh. Hello.” Camael greeted with a small nod and a slight grin, an Australian accent clear in his voice. Camael slid past them without another word, unlocking and entering his room, and shut the door behind him. Michael nodded at both of them, a small smile on his face. “Welcome.” he said formally, shaking their hands. With that he walked past them too, going into the room next to Camael’s.

        Sam looked surprised. “Not too friendly, are they?” he asked with a small laugh.

      “No, they’re very friendly. Camel just doesn’t talk to many of us, and Michael is very…” Cas struggled to find an adjective, before he just shrugged, moving his hands in an aborted gesture. Dean snorted, stuffing his hands back into his pockets. He should have known that if Crowley- the king of dicks- was running this place, there would be dicks who worked here.

        A couple minutes later, two more dancers came down the stairs, chattering loudly. Dean’s cheeks warmed slightly as he recognized the dark haired one as the dancer who had invited them into a private room. The two squeezed down the steps side by side, coming up short right before running into Sam. “Oh, hello!” the light haired dancer said, looking the brothers up and down.

        Cas took a step forward. “This is Raguel,” he pointed to the dark haired one, “and this is Jophiel.” he introduced, pointing to the light haired man. “These are the Winchesters.” he concluded, gesturing towards Dean and then Sam.

         Raguel’s face lit up as he stared at them. “I remember you two!” Turning to Jophiel he said, “I invited them in for a private, and they were so flustered!” Both of the dancers  started laughing, and Jophiel slapped Sam on the back good-naturedly. Sam grinned back, more at ease than Dean was. Dean gave a small nod and a tight smile, staying next to Cas.

         “So you took the job, then?” Raguel asked as the laughter faded.

         “Yea, we did. We start training this weekend.” Sam answered.

         “That’s great! The shows will be a lot easier now with a full cast!” Raguel declared, a wide grin still on his face. With that, they gave final waves before turning and heading half way down the hallway, going into their room and shutting the door.

          Sam turned to Dean. “See? Not everyone is rude. Relax.”

          Dean shrugged, not saying anything. He wasn’t sure overly-friendly and flirty strippers were that much better, to be honest. Cas regarded him silently, but Dean ignored it, even though he could feel those eyes on him like twin spotlights. Sam attempted to make small talk with Cas again, and again it failed, and again they descended into silence while they waited.

          About five minutes later, another dancer made their way down the stairs, steps light and quick. This one looked barely old enough to be working here, with big eyes and floppy brown hair. “Hi!” he said, not stopping his descent as he spotted the trio. “I’m Ariel. You must be the Winchesters, right?” He went straight to the point, smiling genuinely at the brothers.

           Dean took a step forward. “Yea, that’s my brother Sam, and I’m Dean.” he replied, his lips twitching in a smile. “Ariel- like the little mermaid?” He couldn’t resist, and he could almost hear Sam’s eye roll.

           The kid rolled his eyes as well, but his smile didn’t fade. “No, like the arch-angel. I get that a lot, though.” He shifted on his feet, switching his bag to his other shoulder. “I have to go get ready, but we’ll be able to get to know each other soon!” With that he practically bounced off, going to the first door on the right.

           As he disappeared from sight, Sam grinned slightly. “He’s adorable. How old is he?”

           “Eighteen. The youngest one of us.” came Cas’s monotone reply. _‘Well that would explain the puppy-like attitude.’_ Dean thought.

            Within two minutes another group of dancers came down the stairs. This time there were three of them, walking in single file down the white stairs. The one in front looked to be the oldest dancer so far, with short dark brown hair. The middle one was the tallest of the three, with dark hair and even darker eyes. The last one was blonde, thin, and neat looking, and was busy tapping on his phone. They were completely silent, and they reminded Dean of secret service or the Mafias or something.

            The three kept walking, and just as Dean thought they wouldn’t even acknowledge them, the group paused, and the one in front half turned to look at Cas. “Who’re they?” he asked, glancing towards Dean and then Sam.

            Cas’s face tightened slightly, but his voice was even and unchanged as he responded. “This is Dean and Sam Winchester. They accepted the jobs. Dean and Sam, meet Zadkiel, Azrael, and Uriel.” Each of the dancers nodded shortly in turn, Uriel barely glancing up from his phone.

            “I see.” was Zadkiel’s only response, before turning away and heading into the same room as Camael had. They heard a short greeting before the door closed. Azrael didn’t say anything; he just solemnly regarded them before turning and walking into Ariel’s room.

            Uriel tucked his phone into his jacket pocket, and then continued walking down the hallway, giving a brief hand lift and a “Lovely to meet you.” in a posh British accent.

            Dean whistled lowly. “Wow. I wonder who pissed in their cereal this morning.” he grumbled, somewhat irritated. Sam snorted softly in agreement, shaking his head slightly.

            Cas turned to them, hands slightly upraised, his tone apologetic. “Zadkiel… he doesn’t really get along with anyone besides Camael. Uriel is just snobby, but he’ll warm up to you if you’re polite. And Azrael doesn’t talk to anyone, really, so it’s not just you.” Suddenly Cas smirked, and it seemed to change his whole face. It made him seem younger, looser, and more alive. Dean blinked, realizing he’d never actually seen the guy smile for real before. “In fact, in five weeks, I don’t think he’s spoken to me more than twice.” he joked.

            Sam chuckled, and Dean joined in, though it was more at the fact that why-so-serious Cas had made a joke than at the actual joke. Cas looked pleased by their reaction. By this time it was almost nine o’clock, and Dean still counted some dancers missing. Which was a good thing- obviously Crowley didn’t care too much about punctuality, and Dean was never adept at getting to places on time.

            “Do they live together or something?” Dean asked curiously. Castiel tilted his head, obviously confused. “The dancers. They keep coming in groups. Do they live together or carpool?” he explained.

            Cas’s face cleared. “Oh. No. Well, Raguel and Jophiel do, as they’re together, but no, we live all over the city. Most of them just show up around the same time and walk in together.” Dean nodded, resorting back to staring at the wall.

            Two more dancers came clumping down the stairs. The one in front had short brown hair and was almost as tall as Sam, and the one behind him had longer, wavy hair, and a smile already on his face. Dean thought that that was the same dancer that had come up to them the first night in the club ( _‘God, was that only one week ago?’_ ), and he sighed inwardly, hoping there wouldn’t be any more laughter at his expense. The taller dancer in front stopped at the bottom of the steps, breathing hard like he’d run all the way here. “So sorry I’m late!” he pleaded. “I had to-”

            “Raphael, it’s okay. You’re not the last one here; you’re fine.” Cas interrupted with a touch of fond exasperation. “Here, this is Dean and Sam, the two new dancers.” he continued, gesturing to them, almost using them like a distraction to the flustered man.

            Immediately focusing in on the brothers, Raphael’s lips split into a wide grin, teeth flashing. “Hello! Nice to meet you! I’m Raphael, and this,” he said, pulling the other dancer forward, “is Haniel.” Raphael was another “angel” with a sharp British accent, but he seemed a lot friendlier than most of the others so far. Haniel gave a wave and an even bigger grin, winking at them before slipping past Raphael into the last unlocked room in the hall.

            “Anyway, so sorry to have to run off, but hopefully we’ll be able to talk more later. Have fun!” With that Raphael turned around and walked quickly down the hall, swinging into his room.

            “Raphael is by far the politest one, though he apologizes a surprising amount.” Castiel explained.

            Sam nodded, a grin still on his face at the dancer’s antics. “I can see that. Is that all of them?” he asked, head swimming with names. Dean already knew he wouldn’t remember half of them by tomorrow.

            Castiel shook his head. “Raziel is still missing, though usually he’s here earlier than this. And, of course, Gabriel and Lucifer aren’t here yet. I have never seen them here before nine thirty.” he commented, smiling with just his eyes.

            Lucifer…. _‘Wasn’t that the dancer who…’_ Dean turned towards Sam, opening his mouth to ask him, but at that moment a whirlwind came down the steps. Sam hurriedly jumped backwards out of the way, raising his arms above the bundle of energy. Dean was slower, and stumbled backwards as a lean arm smacked into his chest.

            “Ooh, so sorry about that, mate. Here, let me help you-” Dean was steadied by a hand on either shoulder until he wasn’t tripping backwards anymore. “Wait- who are you? No, don’t tell- you’re the Winchesters!” The dancer was still holding onto Dean, examining him with a smile, chattering on in a thick Scottish accent. His brown hair stood almost straight up, looking like he’d actually been through a tornado.

            Dean was a little startled from both being knocked around and the enthusiastic help from the newcomer. Did the dancer even pause to take a breath? He stammered, “Uh, yea. I’m Dean, and that’s my brother, Sam.” The dancer spun around, letting go of Dean, giving Sam an ecstatic grin.

            “Oh, my, aren’t you an enormous fella! Well, I’m Raziel by the way, so sorry to run off, but I had a little car trouble so I’m really very late, but it was fantastic meeting you!” With that he whirled away again, almost sprinting down the hall and into Jophiel’s room. A loud greeting sounded, and then a chuck-encased foot pushed the door shut behind him.

            Cas seemed amused, a tiny lift of his lips the only indicator. “That was Raziel, and he is very excitable, as you can tell.”

            Sam seemed to be having the time of his life. “Yea, I think I got that.” he laughed, leaning languidly back against the wall.

            “He has one hell of a right hook.” Dean muttered, surprised at how sore his ribs were now. Sam laughed at his brother’s misery. Cas chuckled deeply, another thing which Dean had never seen him do. If he had to admit it, he was a little proud that he was getting all of these responses from Cas already. _‘Psh, and Sam says I’m not charming.’_

            More time passed by, the only sounds being muffled talking, laughter, and thumps coming from the various dressing rooms. Almost fifteen minutes later, they finally heard another set of footsteps coming down the stairs. Muddy black boots, faded black jeans, and then a shiny black leather jacket all slowly came into view. An onyx helmet was tucked under one arm, and the dancer had a head full of messy blonde hair. As soon as he laid eyes on the little group, he smirked, though it didn’t reach his eyes, and Dean instantly felt a trickle of mistrust towards him.

            Cas stepped forward half a step. “Dean, Sam, this is Lucifer. Lucifer, this is Dean and Sam, the two new dancers.” he announced.

            Lucifer finished walking down the steps, face strangely blank except for his smirk. “Well, well, well. Don’t think I’ve ever seen you before,” he directed at Dean, “But I remember _you_.” he all but purred, giving Sam an obvious up-and-down. Sam’s face flushed, eyes skittering away from the advancing blonde. It was obvious Sam remember the dancer, too.

            Narrowing his eyes, Dean called, “ _Hey_. Back off.” Lucifer turned back towards him and raised an eyebrow coolly. After a moment he simply shrugged, smirking once again.

            “Nice to have you on the team.” he murmured, turning and walking towards his room. “I look forward to working with you.” Dean growled an obscenity under his breath at the leather-clad back, his hand clenching at his side. Sam let out a breath he had been holding, his shoulders de-tensing, eyes not moving from the retreating dancer.

            Cas noticed, and he briefly touched Dean’s arm, which instantly relaxed. “Don’t worry about Lucifer. He’s like that with everyone really, and that’s what makes him so popular with the clients.” Cas confided. “He mostly minds his own business.”

            Dean nodded, still not convinced. He didn’t like the way he had looked at and talked to Sam at all. _‘I’ll have to keep an eye on him.’_ he thought. Changing the subject, he suggested, “So there’s just… Gabriel left, right?”

            Nodding, Cas sighed, his lips twitched upwards again. “Yes. He’s impossible to control, mostly, but he is kind-hearted and fun.” He spoke with obvious fondness, and the fleeting thought went through Dean’s mind that maybe they were together. Then the thought of why that should ever matter to him at all crossed his mind, and he found that he didn’t really have an answer to that.

            He was saved from reciprocating to Cas by incredibly loud and off-key singing echoing down the stairwell. A short man with long blonde hair and a lopsided smile hopped down the stairs, still singing. He bounced to a stop in front of the Winchesters and Cas, pausing in his rendition of ‘Stayin’ Alive’. “Hey, Cassie. Who are these guys?” he asked cheerfully, shrewdly looking over the brothers.

            “Dean and Sam, the new dancers. This is Gabriel.” Cas stated. Gabriel waved jauntily, producing a red lollipop seemingly out of nowhere and sticking it in his mouth.

            “Pleased to meet you. Officially.” he greeted, and something about the way Gabriel was looking over them and smiling set Dean on edge. He could just tell that Gabriel was going to be very, _very_ aggravating.

            Lifting an eyebrow, Sam asked, “‘Officially?’”

            Gabriel giggled- there really was no other way to describe the laughter coming from him- and pointed at Dean. “I ran into this one last night. You were _wrecked_ , dude.”

            Dean smiled tightly. “Workin’ through some stuff, you know.” That was just great- another thing that he didn’t even remember doing. One of the things Dean hated most was not having control over a situation, and last night was pretty high up in that category. _‘Definitely not ever doing that ever again.’_ he thought with an inward groan.

            Popping the lollipop out and licking his lips once, Gabriel said nonchalantly. “Yup. I know. Is your neck feeling okay, by the way?”

            Frowning, Dean rubbed at the back of his neck. “Yea, why would it-” He froze as a thought crashed into his mind. Seeing the way Gabriel was grinning like a maniac at him, and then winking, Dean knew that he was- unfortunately- completely correct. “You son of a bitch.” he growled.

            “Aw, Dean, I thought you liked it!” Gabriel whined, the smile not quite wiped off of his face.

            “Hilarious.” Dean muttered, fighting the urge to punch Gabriel in the face. His fists clenched at his side as he glared at the dancer. If he had laser eyes, Gabriel would be ash.

            Sam and Cas stood to the side in obvious confusion. “Um… what’s going on?” Sam asked, stepping forward and placing a warning hand on Dean’s shoulder.

            Gabriel turned towards Sam, waving his hand around. “I left Dean-o a little present to remember me by. Though,” he pouted theatrically, “I guess he doesn’t actually remember it.”

            Glancing at Sam, Dean saw the realization dawn across his brother’s face. He scowled as mirth came next, and Sam coughed very hard to try and hide his laughter. From Cas’s head tilt and Gabriel’s titters, he obviously didn’t do very well.

            “Well, it was so lovely meeting you boys. We’ll do some quality get-to-know-you time later. Ta-ta!” He strutted down the hall, slamming the door to his and Cas’s room as he entered.

            Petulantly, Dean kicked the wall, cursing darkly under his breath, trying to avoid rubbing at the hickey mark on his neck. “What was that about?” Cas finally asked.

            Sam waited a minute for Dean to answer, and sighed slightly when he didn’t. “Last night, when Dean came in here and got piss-drunk, apparently he let Gabriel give him a huge hickey.” Sam still sounded like he was choking back laughter, and Dean narrowed his eyes and glared at him.

            “Oh.” Cas said, and Dean was both amused and irritated- though mostly irritated- to see another smile on his face. “That does sound like Gabriel. He does things like that; pranks and jokes. They’re very funny.” Seeing the look on Dean’s face, he backtracked a bit. “Unless, of course, they’re directed onto you. Lucifer once tried to run Gabriel over.”

            Sam laughed, while Dean muttered, “I know the feeling.” He was still boiling over the fact that that had happened last night, and now he’d have to work with the guy who did it. _‘Something tells me this isn’t the last way that Gabriel is gonna fuck me over.’_

            Cas glanced back down the hallway towards his room. “I have to go and get ready now. You can go upstairs and grab seats if you’d like. The club opens officially in about twenty-five minutes.”

            Opening his mouth to reply, Sam was cut off by Dean. “Yea, we’re actually gonna go home now. It’s been kind of a long day, and we’ve got a big day tomorrow, so, you know….” He shrugged one shoulder, an easy smile spread on his face.

            “Oh. Okay. Well then goodnight, and see you tomorrow.” Cas replied, looking a tad let down. With a final small wave, he turned and walked away, leaving the brothers alone in the hallway.

            As they climbed back up the steps, Sam muttered, “You’re still being ridiculous.” They came out onto the main floor, where all of the seats were already starting to fill up. Dean wound his way through the giggling teenage girls and the sharp dressed men towards the door, Sam having to squeeze his larger frame behind him.

            “I’m not. I was just here last night, we’ve been here over an hour already, and I have work in the morning. We’re going home.” Dean argued, pushing the door open with perhaps too much force. The cool air was a smack in the face from the extremely warm interior of the club, and Dean could smell fall closing in.

            Sam scoffed, striding alongside Dean. “Whatever dude. You’ve got issues. You just need to relax or something; embrace your inner stripper.” Sam grinned cheekily at Dean’s scandalized face, dodging the fist that came swinging his way.

            “Bitch.”

            “Jerk.”

           

           

 


	11. Stripper School

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry this one was so late. Outdoor track started up, so I was busy with that, as well as this chapter was hard to write for multiple reasons. Remember- if you ever have any questions, it's easiest to reach me on Tumblr :) But, it's the new longest chapter, and there's some sexy dancey stuff, so enjoy!
> 
> OFFICIAL ADVERTISEMENT: I am dying for someone to illustrate this story! Since I have all the drawing skills of a brain-dead monkey, and my sister doesn't want to draw strippers, I need one of you lovely readers! Just one illustration per chapter, it doesn't have to be fancy or in color. Unfortunately I can't pay or anything like that, BUT you will get lots of publicity and gratitude. If you're interested, PLEASE message me so we can set something up :)
> 
> Many thanks as always to my amazing beta!!!
> 
> Any ideas on plots, ships, etc, as well as fanart and gifsets, are always welcome!

**Follow[me on Tumblr](http://archiveofourown.org/works/875248/chapters/lokisays.tumblr.com) for updates and visual guides!**

* * *

 

         “Hello, Dean. Sam.” Cas greeted, standing up from the stage floor where he had been stretching. Dean could have groaned aloud- of _course_ Crowley would have chosen Cas to be his teacher. Instead, he ran a hand through his hair and gave Cas a small smile, which was returned. The brothers made their way towards the stage, swinging up the side instead of going around to the stairs. Cas stood waiting for them, clad in loose dark pants and a gray t-shirt, shoe-less. It looked… strange, to see him actually fully dressed in real clothes. Ones that _didn’t_ look like bad church clothes.

         “Hello!” A cheerful call from the back corner of the stage caught the brothers’ attentions. Turning his head, Dean actually did groan when he saw Lucifer waving from his perch on top of a chair. And _of-fucking-course_ Crowley would have picked Lucifer to be his other teacher. Already this day was looking like shit.

         Frowning, Dean asked, “Okay, no offence,” _‘Well, maybe a little,’_ he thought, “but why are you here?” Sam subtly elbowed Dean, but he ignored him, instead watching the snickering blonde with narrowed eyes.

         “Because, boys, besides Castiel over here, you’d be hard-pressed to find a better dancer. Anywhere.” he replied, still chuckling.

         Cas nodded, adding unhelpfully, “It’s true. Lucifer is one of our best. Sam couldn’t ask for a better tutor.”

         That made Dean pause, eyes flicking between the two strippers for a moment. “Wait- Sam?” he repeated, turning back to Cas.

         Nodding again, the dancer crossed his hands behind his back. “Yes. Lucifer will be teaching Sam, and I will be teaching you.” His deep voice was slightly unsure, suddenly wondering if Crowley had been mistaken that Dean would rather learn from him than Lucifer. “Is…that okay?”

         Dean let out a breath, crossing his arms. The last thing he wanted was Lucifer spending one-on-one time with his little brother. Looking at the smirking blonde, Dean opened his mouth to say _‘No, that’s not okay, that guy is the kind of guy you see on To Catch a Predator,’_ , but was overridden by Sam.

        “Yes, that’s fine.” he confirmed, rolling his eyes at his brother’s outraged look. He could tell what Dean was thinking, and it irked him. No matter how old he was, Dean would always view him as a little kid who needed to be looked after. He could take care of himself- a single licentious dancer didn’t bother him in the slightest. The petty need to prove Dean wrong flared up inside him, and he returned Lucifer’s grin.

         Lucifer clapped his hands, hopping off of his chair. “Alright then, let’s get started. You guys should probably stretch out.” He pointed to the ground, waiting.

         Sam shrugged off his jacket, tossing it aside, leaving him in just his t-shirt and basketball shorts. Dean reluctantly did the same, grimacing as he slid to the ground. Sam had twisted his arm into wearing an old pair of athletic pants from God knows when, and he had just barely escaped being forced into a pair of shorts. He already missed his jeans.

        “Okay, we’ll start like this.” Cas said, settling on the ground near Dean. His legs were bent out to the sides, the bottoms of his feet pressed together in front of him. His elbows pressed his knees onto the ground, and it looked highly uncomfortable.

         Dean maneuvered his legs into position, surprised when they actually went into place. His knees were way up in the air, not touching the ground like the dancer’s, but overall it wasn’t so bad. “Hey, I think I go- FUCK!” Cas had moved towards him and placed one hand on each of his knees, pressing them down forcefully. Fire was now racing through his hips and groin, and he cursed again as he opened his eyes and saw just how close Cas’s face was now to his. There was only about three inches between their noses, and Dean couldn’t take his eyes off of that distance. Cas didn’t seem to mind, watching Dean steadily and slightly unnervingly. It was unbearably silent, awkward, and painful until Cas finally let go after what felt like a century. Dean gingerly let his legs lie straight in front of him, glaring at Cas as he backed away.

          Cas shrugged, his eyes smiling. “The point of stretching is to push your body, so that it is prepared for whatever you do later. You did better than expected.” Cas complimented, crossing his legs. Dean snorted and looked over at Sam, preparing to make fun of him for his pain.

          However, Sam was doing perfectly fine, pressing his knees by himself until they were almost on the floor. “What the hell?” Dean blurted, confused and a little jealous.

          Sam shrugged, an almost shy smile on his face. “Jess likes yoga, and I go with her sometimes.” he explained, biting his lips to hide his smirk at the frustration flitting through Dean’s eyes.

          Lucifer grinned, raising an eyebrow. “You’re pretty flexible. That’s very good.” Dean growled inwardly at the double meaning, but Sam merely shrugged again, letting his legs fall out of the stretch. Sam’s nonchalantness with Lucifer’s obvious _games_ was really starting to piss Dean off. If Sam was so insistent that he didn’t need Dean to watch over him, why was he so eager to just jump into ridiculous situations like this?

          Cas coughed slightly, interrupting Dean’s angry thoughts. “Alright- next….” He straightened one leg out in front of him, bending the other one in so that his legs made a four. He then bent over, hooking a hand around his outstretched foot, and placing his forehead on his straightened knee. Dean attempted to copy him, just barely managing to touch his foot. Bending over was out of the question.

           That is, until Cas came around and pushed on Dean’s back, his chest now almost touching his thigh. “Holy SHIT!” he cussed, pain lancing up his back and down his leg. It felt like knives were being dragged across his muscles and tendons from his ankle to his neck, and he’d been stabbed before, so he knew exactly what that felt like. Again, the torture seemed to last for an eternity before Cas finally let up. Dean gratefully snapped back upright, breathing heavily.

           “Now the other leg.” Cas directed from behind him, still kneeling by Dean’s back.

           “What?” Dean protested, turning his head around. Cas’s head was over his shoulder, the close proximity making the hairs on the back of his neck tickle. His chest was maybe half a foot from Dean’s back, and Dean didn’t dare move anymore. He could feel Cas’s quiet breathes on his ear, and his black hair mingled with Dean’s lighter hair. Swallowing, he tried to subtly lean forward, away from the personal-bubble-oblivious-dancer.

           “If you don’t stretch, you’ll pull something, and that will hurt a lot worse, trust me.” he countered firmly. There was no sign of an argument in his eyes, and Dean saw that Cas was taking his role as teacher seriously. Heaving a sigh, Dean switched out his legs, stealing a glance at his brother. Sam was bent almost in half, again nearly as stretched out as the two dancers. Muttering curses at Sam under his breath, Dean shook his head and bent and reached for his foot, waiting for the inevitable “help” from Cas.

            It continued like this for almost twenty minutes, each new stretch bring a fresh round of pain for Dean, and more praise for Sam. They stretched everything- their shoulders and arms (which weren’t actually that bad), their backs (which was hell itself, Dean decided), and- of course- their legs. The entire time, Cas hovered around Dean, his personal space practically eradicated. His breath was always on Dean’s neck, or his ear; and his hands were everywhere, pushing and pulling. It was driving Dean up a wall, even more so because he wasn’t completely sure that he knew the reason why it did so; he was ready to snap.

            Sam and Lucifer seemed to be having a grand old time, with Sam barely needing help at all. Lucifer, of course, still found ways to lay his hands across Sam’s shoulders, around his ankle, or on his back. Whenever they weren’t scrunched up in pain, Dean was narrowing his eyes at the blonde, sending telepathic death threats across the stage. Unfortunately, Lucifer didn’t seem to get any of them, because usually, Dean’s threats made even the hardiest of men run to their mommas.

            Sam wasn’t stupid, and he knew what Lucifer was doing. Dean, he could see, needed the help from Cas. But he was doing fine, and Lucifer was unnecessarily touching him any chance he could. Innocent enough, Lucifer offered compliments and praise for Sam’s abilities, always smiling. In truth, Sam didn’t mind overly much- he had a feeling this kind of behavior was normal for the blonde dancer. It certainly made things interesting, to say the least.

            Finally they were allowed a break, Cas deeming them “as ready as they will ever be”. Sam walked over to where Dean was seated on the edge of the stage, swigging from a water bottle. “That sucked.” Dean complained, grimacing as he gingerly crossed his legs in front of himself.

            Chuckling, Sam took the bottle of water and took a sip. “It wasn’t that bad.” he countered, laughing again at Dean’s glare.

            “Maybe for you, Mr. Namaste.” he muttered, grabbing the water bottle back petulantly. He stole a glance behind them, where Lucifer was talking animatedly to Cas, who seemed to be only half paying attention. “How much longer do we have?” he asked, bringing has gaze back to his brother.

            Glancing at his watch, Sam answered, “Three and a half hours.” He bit his lip to hide his grin at Dean’s loud groan. “Come one, we should go back over.” he prompted, standing up and offering his hand to Dean.

            Dean grumbled inaudibly as he got to his feet without the proffered help, sure that tomorrow he wouldn’t be able to walk at all. The two ambled back over to their tutors, who were now waiting silently for them. Cas spread his hands, saying, “We’ve decided on a plan. We’ll start with some basic moves on the poles, and after a while, we will switch to other skills.”

            Leaning forwards, Lucifer raised his finger in the air. “He means things like lap dances.” he clarified, a wide grin on his face.

            Dean blanched, glancing between the two, trying to see if this was some sort of joke. But from Cas’s stoic face, and Lucifer’s now-wiggling eyebrows, he realized- with a small amount of dread- that they were serious. His eyes slid over to Sam, and he looked mildly concerned, but that was about it. Running a hand over his face, Dean realized he honestly didn’t know what to do. Was he the only one thinking sanely in this situation?

            He was as good as stuck in this position, with nowhere really to go. He couldn’t just walk out and leave Sam behind, but he just couldn’t sit by and watch without doing anything. And if they were supposed to be training for their job…. These thoughts buzzed around his head like pissed off yellow jackets, and he shook his head, trying to dislodge them. “Let’s get this started, then.” he said gruffly, stalking forward to where Cas was waiting by one of the poles. No one had ever called him a coward.

* * *

 

            Castiel nodded and gestured for Dean to follow him to the far left pole. Looking over his shoulder, Castiel saw Dean watching as Lucifer lead Sam to the opposite side of the stage, an arm slung over his shoulder. Castiel inwardly sighed, knowing that Lucifer was only doing these things to purposely pushing Dean’s buttons. As per usual. That was one of the only things Lucifer and Gabriel had in common, antagonizing people. That and their dislike for each other.

            “Is Lucifer always this… touchy?” Dean asked suddenly, obviously irritated.

            Castiel stopped, turning around in front of the pole. He shrugged slightly at the irritation radiating off of Dean. “It depends. Most of the time, he minds his own business. But when the mood strikes him, he is extremely… enthusiastic.” He struggled for an explanation for his fellow dancer’s erratic behavior.

            Dean snorted, shaking his head. “I don’t like it.” he muttered, crossing his arms in front of him.

            Castiel smiled slightly. “I can see that.” he remarked. Dean shot him a look with a raised eyebrow, but Castiel merely shrugged again. “There is not much you can do- Lucifer is very persistent. In all his doings.” Dean didn’t seem to like that either, huffing again as he uncrossed his arms and clenched his fists at his sides.

            “Well, let’s get started.” Castiel directed a moment later. Without waiting for Dean to respond, he turned and gripped the pole, quickly pulling his body up and flipping upside down. He supported his body with just his arms, legs straight up in the air. It was a relatively simple move, one that a beginner could start with. He stayed like that for a couple of seconds, before flipping back right-side up and dropping down to his feet. Dean stared with wide eyes, flicking apprehensively between Castiel and the dully-gleaming pole. His surprised face amused Castiel, and he bit on his tongue to avoid chuckling at Dean. When Dean showed no sign of moving, Castiel prompted, “Start with that.” Dean snapped out of his reverie with a sharp blink.

             Dean nodded slightly, now looking at the pole with apprehension. He walked forward and hesitantly held onto it, taking a breath. He then hauled himself upwards, relatively easily it seemed. He then slowly lifted his legs, before straightening them out, upside down. He hit the position, and it looked great. After a second or two, he righted himself, dropping back down to the ground. He smiled slightly, some confidence returning to him. “How was that?” he asked.

             Grinning again- he seemed to do that a lot around Dean- Castiel nodded. “Very good. You were very controlled, and it’s obvious that you have the strength for this. I can tell that you will pick this up fast.” Dean’s lips twitched, obviously not expecting this level of honesty. Castiel didn’t believe in beating around the bush- blunt honesty was always the best course. Dean would come to get used to it, in time.

             Brushing Dean’s shoulder with his own as he returned to the pole, Castiel once again lifted himself up and turned upside down. This time, however, his arms let go of the pole, so only his legs were holding him up. His arms were held straight out to the sides, unwavering. As he dismounted, he explained, “It’s the same move as the last one, but your legs are supporting you this time. Your hands will most likely be up in the air or reaching towards the ground while you do this.” Dean nodded, his jaw set with a new determination that Castiel hadn’t ever seen before.

             Castiel moved away from the pole to give Dean some room. As before, Dean pulled himself up and turned his body upside down just fine. As he let his arms go, however, he immediately slipped a foot down the pole. In his surprise, he loosened his leg muscles, and fell to the ground in a graceless heap. Frowning, Castiel quickly walked forward, hoping he hadn’t hurt himself. Just as he reached down to take Dean’s shoulder, the latter sat up and shook himself.

            “Ow.” Dean mumbled, picking himself up off the floor. He winced and rolled his shoulder, but otherwise seemed unhurt. Castiel coughed hard to cover up a laugh, but from Dean’s glare, it seemed he didn’t do a good enough job. He couldn’t help it- watching Dean fall on his head was quite entertaining. “Seriously, Cas? I’m sure you fell a lot when you first started!” Dean protested, but he seemed more amused than angry now.

            “Well, yes, but it’s quite different when you see someone else do it.” Castiel offered, spreading his hands in front of him.

            Dean rolled his eyes, a corner of his mouth tilting upwards. “Whatever, Cas.” He turned back to the pole, taking hold of it again. This time he managed to stay up on the pole, only sliding a few inches; he was prepared for it this time. He looked slightly proud of himself as he stood back up, and Castiel found he quite enjoyed it. It seemed from his demeanor that Dean didn’t get many good things in his life, and to see him somewhat enjoying himself was… refreshing.

            “That was good. Now do both of those moves in a row, holding each for five seconds. Do that ten times. Try to keep yourself from sliding.” Castiel ordered. Dean nodded, and as he turned back to the pole, Castiel shook his head in wonder, going to sit down a little further down the stage. For someone who had such misgivings about coming here, Dean was doing perfectly well on his first day, and he was remarkably compliant. He had expected more sarcasm, questioning of his rules, or at least some hesitance or fear. This Dean, however, was a perfectly fine student, and he seemed to actually want to learn these moves.

             Castiel furrowed his brow slightly- Dean Winchester was completely confusing to him. He always seemed to try and hide his true feelings and thoughts, but when they shone through, that’s when he was his best. The closed off, angry Dean that Castiel had been dealing with was not someone that he necessarily liked as much. If only Dean realized that. Perhaps that’s _why_ he did it…. Castiel frowned at this thoughts, wishing he knew more about Dean. Maybe in the future, Dean would be willing to talk about his past and himself. Not soon, possibly, but some day.

             Castiel watched as Dean held himself upside down, noting with approval that he already looked like he had this move down. His eyes tracked the expanse of muscled stomach uncovered by his shirt and the prominent muscles in his arm. Catching himself staring, he purposefully snapped his eyes to the ground in front of him with a frown. No, it would not be good to submit to those whims, especially with someone like Dean, who was already so unsure about his place here. Besides, Castiel didn’t need that kind of… distraction in his life. Didn’t want it.

             After a few minutes, he lost himself in his thoughts; thoughts of Dean and teaching and dancing and friendship. Losing track of time, he was startled when Dean appeared in front of him, waving a hand right in front of his face. Blinking a few times, he looked up at Dean’s amused expression. “What next, Mr. Teacher?” he joked, leaning back on his heels.

             Standing up, Castiel glanced over towards the other two. They were still working on the first move, Sam obviously not as immediately comfortable on the pole as Dean. Turning his head back to Dean, he licked his lips before answering. “Next, we’ll combine those moves with something else.” He crossed over to the pole, Dean following.

             Grabbing onto the pole, Castiel lifted himself straight up, explaining as he went. “This is the Backwards Chair.” Using just his arms (one bent and one straight), he hung from the pole, legs bent up to his chest, one on either side of the pole. “One of the simplest transitions is the Chair to the Invert.” Slowly, he straightened his bent arms, and leaned backwards until he was upside down. He then clenched his legs around the pole before straightening them, letting his torso hang all the way down, until he was back in the original Invert. After a second or two he dropped off of the pole, coming to stand in front of Dean. “Think you can do it?” he asked, studying Dean’s wary expression.

             As if seeing Castiel staring at him, Dean’s jaw tightened. “Yea, it doesn’t look too hard.” Going to the pole, he lifted himself up, finding the Chair position relatively easily. After a moment, he started to lean backwards, but he leaned too fast, and dropped onto the ground. Castiel winced in sympathy. _‘At least he fell on his back instead of his head this time.’_ he thought.

             “ _Ouch_.” Dean moaned, sitting up stiffly. “I’m gonna look like a red-headed step child tomorrow.” he muttered, standing up.

             Castiel tilted his head. “I don’t understand that reference.”

             Dean looked surprised, before ruefully shaking his head, a small grin on his face. “Never mind, Cas.”

             He returned to the pole, attempting the move again. This time he almost got to the Invert before he fell. “Fuuuuuuuck.” he groaned, a hand on his back. “Is this normal? To feel your bones turning to pulp?” Slowly climbing back to his feet, Dean shot a baleful glare at the pole, rubbing gingerly at his back.

              Chuckling, which earned him another glare from Dean, Castiel replied, “Yes, for the first week, you will spend a majority of your time on your back.” Too late, Castiel realized he probably should have said that a bit differently, as Dean made an odd choking sound. His startled glance landed on Castiel before shooting away again, and his cheeks flushed a faint pink. He coughed once, before turning back to the pole.

              “Coulda phrased that better, Cas.” Dean mumbled, blowing out a breath. Shaking his head, he returned to practicing, a semi-awkward silence extending between the two. Castiel shook his head, only partly paying attention to Dean. He was annoyed with himself for making Dean upset, but he didn’t know how to fix it. He bit his lip slightly, offering a distracted thumbs up as he saw Dean successful achieve the mini routine. While Dean did the move ten times, Castiel tried to think of ways to repair the situation.

               Dean finished his set, only having fallen a total of three times. Unfortunately. Cas had yet to think of a way to make sure he hadn’t really made Dean upset. As he walked over to where Castiel was seated on the ground, Castiel blurted, “I’m sorry, Dean, for making you uncomfortable earlier.” He fixed Dean with a firm stare, willing him to understand.

              Closing his eyes, Dean shook his head, a grin working its way onto his face. “Cas, man, just don’t even worry about it. It’s over with.” Dean chuckled, adding, “You gotta lighten up. Seriously.”

               Castiel nodded, grinning slightly. It seemed he was worrying himself unnecessarily. It was a relief to see Dean finally relaxing and letting his hard and brusque shield down. “Okay, Dean. In that case, we’ll go on to the next move. It’s called The Chopper.” he declared, standing up fluidly and heading back over to the pole.

* * *

              “Shut up.” Sam hissed, frustration getting the better of him. Pole dancing was definitely a _lot_ harder than he thought it was going to be. Maybe it was because he actually had no idea what he was doing, or maybe it was just because these dancers made it all look incredibly easy and natural. Probably a combination of both. He picked himself up off the floor- again- and rolled his throbbing neck. If he walked away without a concussion he’d be shocked.

               Looking over at where Dean and Cas were practicing, he scowled to see that Dean was a few moves ahead of him. Of _course_ Dean would pick all of this up easily. The _one_ person who was most reluctant to come and learn this was the _one_ person who learned it the quickest. Typical.

               “Come on, try again. You almost had it that time.” Lucifer cajoled, once his laughter had died down. It was obvious that he never got tired of watching people- or maybe just Sam- fall. “We’re still on beginner moves, and we have a lot to cover.” He offered a hand to Sam, and he grudgingly took it, wincing at the protest his back was giving him.

                Sighing, he turned back to the pole, attempting the “Fireman Swing” yet again. The trick was loosening his grip enough to spin fluidly around the pole, but not so much that he dropped to the ground. Again. Pulling himself up, he bent his legs around the pole, using a small kick to get momentum to swing his body around. Loosening his grip on the pole by a fraction, he spun around the pole, the friction chafing his hands. After a couple times around the pole, he dropped to the ground, smiling brightly.

                Lucifer clapped quietly, if a bit mockingly. “Bravo. Now do that a few more times, just so we’re sure that you’ve got it.” he directed. Sam nodded, his usual optimism creeping back in. He could almost feel Lucifer’s eyes on him as he practiced, like a spotlight was focused on him. Surprisingly, it didn’t bother him as much as he thought it would. Normally, he hated people watching him while he worked, but Lucifer- as much as a sarcastic asshole as he was- wasn’t a normal person, he supposed.

                Once he successfully did the Swing five times in a row, Lucifer walked over to him, passing him his water bottle. “You know, you really are doing good for your first day.” he murmured, actually sincere.

                Sam nodded, swallowing his mouthful of water. “Thanks. It’s a lot harder than I thought.” He grinned lopsidedly, shrugging. “I just hope I don’t completely suck.” And it was true- he truly wanted to be good at this. So little praise had been given to him in his life that even small bits of it gave him a huge smile.

                All his life, no one- except Dean and Jess- expected anything from him. His teachers always thought the worst of him- a kid with a bad home, constantly moving schools: must be a real delinquent. Close family friends- Jo, Ellen, Bobby- they never really thought he’d get away from the “family business”. As for his dad, well, let’s just say that his dad probably couldn’t care less if Sam lived or died. And sure, Dean and Jess were great- they supported and helped him through college and the past few years of his life. But this was his chance to prove that he could do something by himself, just for himself. And he was determined to get it right.

                Lucifer laughed, breaking through Sam’s internal pep talk. “Sammy, you’ll do great. It’s your first day- relax.” He clapped Sam on the shoulder, leaving it there perhaps a bit longer than necessary. "Besides, that part of practice is over now. Let’s head over to the other two and start the fun stuff.” His words were accompanied by a wolfish grin, and Sam hesitantly smiled back, not sure of what to expect.

                Drifting behind Lucifer as they made their way to the center of the stage, waiting for Dean and Cas to finish the move they were on. Lucifer quietly explained that Dean was, in fact, only two moves ahead of Sam, and that tomorrow he should be able to catch up. Sam nodded absentmindedly, only half paying attention. He was exhausted after hours of practicing, and he was definitely ready to sleep. _‘Hopefully I won’t doze off waiting here.’_

                A couple minutes later, Dean and Cas finally made their way over, chuckling together about something. Sam tilted his head, giving his brother a critical look. Surly, angry Dean had left the building, and in his place was happy-go-lucky Dean, who rarely made an appearance, even at home. If Cas had managed to do that in only a couple hours… Sam’s lips twitched, and he could see that Dean and Cas had instantly bonded, and that Dean could add one more person to his tiny list of friends. Even if he didn’t want to accept or admit it.

                Cas cleared his throat, a smile still lingering in his crazy-blue eyes. “So, for the last bit of practice, we’ll start teaching you about the one-on-one with the customers. Specifically, lap dances.” Dean shot Cas a look from the corner of his eye, and Sam hid his grin behind his hand. He wasn’t _too_ nervous about it- what was the worst that could happen? Cas continued, “Dean and I will use that chair, and Sam and Lucifer will use that one.” He pointed to two chairs on opposite sides of the stage. “First, Lucifer and I will demonstrate on you, and then you can practice on us.”

 _‘Well then…’_ Stiffening, Sam swallowed, stealing a glance at Dean. He knew his brother would not react well to that. He was right.

* * *

 

             It had actually been a lot better than he had expected, but he needed to go home and sleep for a few _weeks_. He was sore all over, bruised, and exhausted, physically and mentally. He’d had enough for today, but, apparently, it wasn’t over yet. Choking violently on the water he was sipping, Dean exploded, “Are you kidding me?”, throwing his hands up in the air. “No! I’m not gonna get a _lap dance_ from _Cas_. It’s not gonna happen!” He’d gotten plenty of lap dances before, but they were always from hot women. But to get one from Cas… it didn’t seem _right_. In truth, he was more frightened than furious, though he was a little mad. It seemed like… there was some sort of boundary, an invisible line. It was one thing to swing around a pole for a bit, but this… it made it all too real.

            Cas sighed, pleading with Dean with his eyes. “Dean, it is not that big of a deal. It’s simply just to teach you the correct and most pleasurable ways of doing this.” He said this all matter-of-factly, as if giving instructive lap dances to a guy who was basically a stranger was normal. _‘Well, I guess for him, it is normal.’_

            Groaning, Dean ran a hand down his face. “Cas, it’s not that simple. I… _I_ can’t do this. It’s not… I can’t.” he stumbled, unable to properly explain. “Why can’t you just do it to Lucifer, and we’ll watch?” Dean offered. With that, the thought came to him that Sam would then, logically, be getting a lap dance from Lucifer. That just strengthened his resolve.

            Lucifer rolled his eyes. “Look, Dean. This is the easiest way to do this, and the quickest. We all had to go through this, and we- well, most of us, at least- didn’t really enjoy it. You’re going to have to do this sooner or later, so why not just get it over with? The sooner you learn, the sooner we can stop with the lessons.” For once, his usual joking manner and sarcasm were absent, and in its place was a cold, firm, and unsettling directness.

            Dean looked at Sam, who just shrugged, looking uncertain _‘So helpful, Sam.’_ Turning back to Cas, who seemed to just want to get on with it, he still wasn’t any more sure. Scrubbing at his jaw, he abruptly turned and threw himself down on the chair that was innocently waiting. “Fine. Whatever. Lay it on me.” Clenching his jaw, he saw relief go through Cas’s expression as he stepped towards Dean.

            Slowly, as though approaching a cornered animal, Cas put one hand on each of Dean’s shoulders. He straddled Dean’s lap, keeping his weight off of Dean and on his own feet. Dean swallowed, staring hard at a loose thread on Cas’s collar. This close, he could smell… _Cas_ , a mixture of old books and earth and fruit. He closed his eyes as Cas started talking, his head a raging whirlwind.

            “Never put all of your weight on your client.” Cas murmured. “It’s almost like you’re hovering over them. Keep your moves slow and smooth, working in a circle.” Cas’s hips began to move in long, slow circles and Jesus _fucking_ Christ he was good at that. Dean lost his track of thought, his eyes popping back open and staring in confusion and surprise at Cas. He tuned back in in time to hear, “…don’t actually touch them too much, it distracts too much from the actual movement.”

            Cas moved seamlessly and gracefully, falling into a rhythm even without any music to hear. He kept barely brushing Dean’s legs with his, his ass just inches above Dean’s thighs, and Dean was sure his face was as red as a fire engine. His eyes drifted back up to Cas’s face, and he was surprised to see nothing but calmness and peace on it. Cas kept instructing, oblivious. “That’s just the lower half. Your arms are possibly your greatest asset. Use them to your advantage- these you can use to touch. Like this.” Cas moved his hands from Dean’s shoulders, running them slowly down and back up his arms. He then moved to Dean’s chest, tracing invisible patterns with a feather light touch. “Obviously, for women, it would be slightly different.” he murmured, looking down at Dean briefly.

            Dean was almost holding his breath, his mind all but turned off. Sure, he’d had plenty of lap dances before, but none like this. None so… intimate, slow, gentle. Heat coursed through him, and his face burned hotter than before. Cas seemed so calm and collected, but he was _not_ playing fair, and Dean didn’t know what he was doing. Call him a masochist, but he couldn’t find it in himself to make Cas stop. He couldn’t find it in himself to _want_ to make him stop, and that scared him more than anything.

            “A good thing to do is to pull in close, such as leaning your forehead against theirs, or maybe drop a kiss on the top of their head if you feel that would be best.” Luckily Cas didn’t feel the need to demonstrate that, or Dean might have _actually_ exploded this time. “You’ll have to feel out your customer- mostly, they are here for purely sexual reasons, so things like kisses aren’t necessary. However, sometimes, you do actually get lonely people who need contact, and so they will pay more for things like that.” Finally, Cas stilled, easily stepping off of Dean.

            Dean exhaled enormously, like he had been underwater for the five minutes. He then sucked in air, because he apparently had been holding his breath for a majority of that five minutes. “Okay.” he choked out, scrambling to recover. What was _wrong_ with him? Getting that worked up over a lap dance should _not_ have happened, _especially_ from Cas.

            _‘You didn’t make him stop. You didn’t want him to stop. You_ liked _it.’_ a treacherous voice in his head taunted. Dean shook his head sharply, dislodging it. He was uncomfortable, that was it. He was not used to this, and he didn’t actually know Cas, so of _course_ he would be uneasy doing this. Yea, that was it.

            Glancing up, Dean saw that Cas was staring at him, waiting for him to say or do something. “Um… yea, okay. Keep your weight off of them, slow and steady, use your arms, feel out your customer. Got it.” he mumbled, standing up.

            Cas tilted his head, giving him a searching look. “Are you alright, Dean?” he asked, taking a step forward.

            Dean nodded, saying, “Yea, yea, I’m fine. Just peachy. Is that it?” He winced, realizing that he sounded a bit rude.

            Furrowing his brow, Cas answered, “You should start practicing that while you are here.” He passed Dean and sat down in the chair, gesturing for Dean to get started.

            Dean’s mouth fell open, and he shook his head emphatically. “Dude, no. I can’t do all that. Besides, i-if you said I have to feel out each customer, then I shouldn’t just practice here….” Even before he finished his somewhat-pathetic excuse, he knew that there was no way he could argue with Cas on this. He was firmly set in making sure Dean did this the right way, and from his blank expression, Dean could see he didn’t really want to hear Dean’s protests.

            Cursing quietly, he walked over to Cas, hesitating before placing his hands on his shoulders, like Cas had done. He awkwardly threw a leg over Cas, bending his knees until he was just above Cas’s lap. “Okay….” he muttered. He started to move his hips, attempting to copy what Cas had done. To him, it looked completely ridiculous, but Cas was nodding in approval.

            “Pretty good, especially with no experience or music.” he commented, as calm as always.

             Dean muttered inaudibly, inwardly cursing up a storm. This was _so_ not normal. Swallowing, he grit his teeth slightly. “Then… like this?” He let his hands drift down Cas’s arms, shoulders to hands. He violently ignored the thoughts like _‘His skin is really soft.’_ and _‘Geez, for such a skinny dude, he is_ jacked _.’_ He forwent the chest touching, feeling like he had really done enough.

             Cas nodded again, seeming unperturbed. “Yes, not bad at all.” Dean let out a breath, returning his hands to Cas’s shoulders. He continued his hip movements, realizing with a bit of shock that he actually had found some sort of rhythm, and it seemed less awkward, less jerky. He then froze, hurriedly throwing his leg off of Cas. Yep, done with that, enough practicing.

             Standing up, Cas offered a small, lopsided grin. “Well done. That was very adequate for a beginner.” he rumbled, briefly grasping Dean’s shoulder.

             Dean nodded, feeling like he could breathe easier now. “Yea, well, thanks. You’re a pretty good teacher.” And he realized that it was true- Cas was patient, calm, and actually happy to be here. As far as teachers go, he’s probably one of the best Dean ever had. Not that there was much to compare to….

             Cas’s grin grew, crinkling his eyes. “Thank you, Dean. That’s all for today, you can go if you wish. See you tomorrow.”

             Dean nodded, walking over to pick up his jacket. As he swung it on, he saw that Sam was done, too, and was just talking to Lucifer. Typical- he was always a chatterbox. Unfortunately for him, Dean wanted to _go_. Waving at Cas with a genuine smile, Dean hopped off the stage, yelling good-naturedly over his shoulder at Sam to stop gabbing and get going.

             As far as first days of stripping went… it coulda been a hell of a lot worse.

 

 


	12. The Amount of Sexual Tension is TOO DAMN HIGH

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wowowow I am SO sorry this took so long. School just ended for me two weeks ago, and I had graduation last week. I got a boyfriend, had track states, had a track banquet, went to graduation rehearsals, etc etc etc. Now I'm at senior beach week, and while others are getting white girl wasted, I am finally updating ^.^
> 
> This is unedited because I wanted to get this out to you guys ASAP. So please excuse any mistakes/typos :)
> 
> As always, ideas/opinions on ships and plot events are welcome, as is any and all fanart.

**Follow me on[Tumblr](http://www.tolkhien.tumblr.com) for updates, visual guides, fanart, and more!**

* * *

 

Training was _hard_. Dean was sore in places he didn’t even know he could be sore in, and he found himself using muscles that probably didn’t even really exist on a normal person. Each day he went home aching, bruised, and more often than not cranky. Sure, he had known it was going to be difficult, but he definitely wasn’t prepared for _this_. Sam was less vocal about his discomfort, But Dean could see his grimaces and limps around the apartment. The brothers didn’t talk about it; didn’t even mention it beyond passing the bottles of painkillers.

Even after all of the physical abuse… he found that he was still having fun. No matter how much he complained about the sessions to Sam, or how much he groaned about going, he still couldn’t quite quench the little spark of excitement about it. It turned out that he was basically a natural at it, and he was catching on faster than almost anyone else did- Cas himself included. Sam just rolled his eyes at the praise, teasing Dean about being a natural-born stripper, but he, too, was coming along extremely well. Overall, the Winchesters apparently excelled at being dancers. Who would’ve known?

Crowley had stopped by one of the training sessions- their third one- during their first week, just silently watching in the back. Cas had just given him a nod, and Lucifer had waved childishly, though Dean merely made a face. Of course the Dick in Charge had to come and watch. _‘Just when I was starting to enjoy myself a little bit.’_ He had left about half-way through, the only hint to his feelings a slight smirk on his face. “I think he likes you!” Lucifer had remarked during a water break, causing the brothers to roll their eyes. They didn’t really care if Crowley liked them or not.

After the first session, things had progressed steadily. Each day, their tutors would add more moves to their repertoire, getting more and more difficult as time went on. They had kept working at the lap dances, much to Dean’s agitation. It was the only part of training that he absolutely hated, even more so because he didn’t know why he despised it so much. Sam and Lucifer seemed to be getting along fine, actually seeming to fall into a friendship of some sorts. One that involved a _lot_ of touching and innuendos on the part of a certain blonde.

Cas, on the other hand…. Dean still couldn’t figure him out. He was so stiff and controlled all the time. He was socially awkward, oblivious, and severely culturally uneducated. But at the same time, Dean found him easy to talk to, easy to spend time with, and generally a good guy. Cas made the training bearable. He still knew squat about him, but he figured that would come later, after they were done with the teacher-student roles. Because he did want to get to know him, especially if they were going to be working together.

Coming in for training their fifth day- over half way done- Dean already had a small grin on his face. Each day left him with less bruises, less soreness, and more skill than the day before. He couldn’t explain it, but for the first time in a _long_ time, he was doing something that he genuinely liked and wanted to do. He understood now where Sam was coming from- it was nice to have control over yourself, even if it was for something as dumb as what they were doing. It had always been listening to his father or watching over Sam; he could barely remember a time before that; before he had his orders and expected behaviors. It was… gratifying, in a way, to get out and do something crazy like this. Especially now that it seemed like everything was working out in their favor.

“How’s it hangin’, Cas?” Dean called, swinging up onto the stage.

“I’m well, Dean. How are you?” Cas replied stoically, sitting cross-legged on the ground. He gave a small nod, lips quirked up in a faint smile. Dean merely shrugged, shedding his jacket and tossing it to the side. Sam did the same, drifting over to where Lucifer was picking at his nails on his usual perch on the chair.

Walking over to Cas and sliding down to the ground next to him to stretch, Dean asked, “So what’s on the agenda today?” He pulled his legs into a butterfly, using his elbows to press his knees downwards, noting with a bit of satisfaction how much more flexible he was already.

Cas answered, “Well, obviously we’re going to learn some more moves on the pole. Not too many, because we’re going to start learning sequences and some routines instead. The lap dances are coming along well, so we don’t have to practice those too much anymore. We’ll do a little bit of practice on dancing at the front of the stage; the actual stripping part. That shouldn’t take too long, so we might end a bit early today.” Shrugging, Cas stood up, brushing off his hands on his pants.

“Cool.” Dean replied, switching stretches. Ending early was more than fine with him. “Sam and Lucifer doing the same?” he asked, somewhat curious. He shot a look over his shoulder at the pair, and of _course_ Lucifer was laughing and ruffling Sam’s hair, leaving Sam to grin along and bat away the hands while still trying to stretch. Clenching his jaw, he returned his gaze to the concerned look on Cas’s face.

“He means no harm.” Cas remarked softly. “Don’t get so worked up about it. It’s all play to Lucifer.” God, that was another thing- Cas could see through him as if he was made of glass, or if he had x-ray vision. He always knew what Dean was thinking, and always could pick up on his mood swings. It was equal parts annoying and scary.

Snorting, Dean sat up straight, quickly stretching out his arms. “It still bothers me- he’s my kid brother, I’m just used to looking out for him.” Cas nodded as though he understood- hell, maybe he did- and waited silently for Dean to finish stretching. It wasn’t an awkward silence, though, as most silences were around Cas. It was amiable; there was nothing more that needed to be said. Dean wasn’t one for silence, but he couldn’t find any reason to complain.

The next hour or two went by quickly, in a flurry of new twists and turns on the pole and new sequences to try. Dean was amazed at how easily and smoothly these moves fit together, and it was a testament to Cas- or maybe the whole team at the club- to how well these routines flowed. On top of that, Dean had never had the best memory, but the way Cas taught him- one move at a time, then two, then four, and so on- just… _clicked_. Every time he nailed a sequence he was ridiculously proud of himself, even if he didn’t show it. From Cas’s telltale little smiles, however, Dean guessed he wasn’t hiding it too well.

After the next water break, Cas said, “Dean, you did really well today. We’ll take a break from the pole and work on your front-of-stage dancing.”

Dean decided to wave off the praise, though his cheeks flushed slightly. “Awesome.” he responded, getting up and brushing of his legs, wincing as his knees cracked loudly. He still didn’t know what exactly this part of training entailed, but it was something new, so it was automatically interesting.

Cas stood off to the side of the pole, in an open space. “Now, most of the things we do on the front of the stage are improv.” he began. “You have to go off of the crowd, feel the clients’ vibes, and even use your fellow dancers.” Dean nodded, only somewhat understanding the “spacey feel-good” explanation. “The goal of this part of your performance is to really tease the customers, to make them want more and return to the club night after night. Also, of course, to get more tip money.

“I’ll demonstrate a few moves and sequences for you, and then you’ll try to copy them. That’s all I can really do; as I said before, it’s mostly improv when you’re up there.” Cas finished, taking a small step back from Dean. Dean watched him, ready to try to imitate the dancer. Once Cas started, however, it was obvious that it would take Dean a long time to get there.

He started with some sort of body roll, after which he immediately started swiveling his hips in ways that really shouldn’t have been that distracting. Then his hands joined in, sliding first down his chest and stomach, then back up. He wove his body through the air with precision and talent, making a striptease into its own art; Cas was “stripping” while still managing to turn it into a dance. Luckily he hadn’t actually been taking off his clothes, or Dean might have just had an aneurysm.

Even though Cas didn’t have a partner or a crowd to go off of, Dean still would have tipped the dancer mad money. He moved to an invisible rhythm, twisting and turning his hips and shoulders licentiously. The hands that danced along his body were equally amazing, sliding down skin and pretending to strip off bits of clothing. And Cas’s face… usually it was blank, reserved, and stoic. But with a small smile on his face, his brow relaxed, and his eyes closed, Cas looked more relaxed and carefree than Dean has ever seen him. All together, Cas looked _incredible_.

After a couple of minutes- Dean had kind of lost track of time- Cas stopped, stepping back away from Dean again. “Okay, now try some of it. It doesn’t have to be exact.” he instructed. Dean bit his lip, already feeling self-conscious. Closing his eyes, he started to move his body, almost retreating inwards to _feel_ how to move. He didn’t try specifically to copy Cas, he just went with however he felt like moving, and damnit it actually felt _good_. His hips circled and swayed, and he tried to put his hands to good use like he’d seen the other dancers do. It actually wasn’t as horrifyingly bad as he thought it was going to be, and as he stopped and opened his eyes to Cas’s smirk a few moments later, he felt a thread of warmth burn through him.

“Here, try the roll again.” Cas directed, still watching him attentively. Dean tried to do the body roll again and winced. _‘Oops.’_ Even to his untrained eye he knew it looked jerky and generally _bad_. He turned towards Cas, apologetically lifting his hand. Cas was silent for a couple minutes; long enough for Dean to get fidgety. Just as he was about to check if the dancer had fallen into a coma or something, he finally spoke. “Turn around.” He made a little spinning motion with his index finger.

“What?”

“I said turn around, Dean, please.”

“Why?” Dean crossed his arm, raising an eyebrow.

Cas shrugged, coming closer to Dean, once again breaking his personal bubble big time. “I’m just going to move your body in the right way. It’s not that big of a deal.”

“What do you mean?” Dean asked, narrowing his eyes suspiciously at Cas. The dancer had his usual blank look back on his face, so he was virtually unreadable.

Calmly, with his hands raised, he replied, “I’m going to show you how to do a body roll by using my body to move yours. It’s an incredibly efficient method, Dean, it’s worked plenty of times. Now turn around, please, and we can move on quicker.” Now Cas seemed like he was pleading with Dean, which was unusual for him.

Stiffly, Dean turned around, still not completely sure what was going to happen. He shifted his weight nervously, the slight apprehension getting the better of him. Cas stepped behind Dean, one arm crossing over and laying against his chest, the other gripping Dean’s left hip. His chest was up against Dean’s back, his hips were glued to Dean’s, and his mouth was right next to Dean’s ear. Dean could feel Cas’s steady heartbeat through his back muscles, contrary to the racing of his own heart.

 _‘Okay…_ not _what I was expecting.’_ Anyone who walked in right now would definitely think there was some butt-fucking about to happen. Relaxing was out of the question, and Dean was so far out of his comfort zone that he couldn’t even see the edges of it. If Cas felt awkward about this, he didn’t show it, and Dean didn’t know if that made this better or worse. Dean could feel his mind going into panic mode, where it usually just shut down and didn’t provide any logical thoughts. _‘Lovely.’_

“First, start at the top.” Cas instructed quietly, so close that Dean could feel his hair tickling his cheek and his chin brushing his shoulder. “Lean back….” Applying some pressure to the hand on Dean’s chest, Cas tilted Dean’s torso backwards, flush against his own. Dean let his body be moved and shifted, his mind not responsive in the slightest. “Then, let the rest of your body follow suit.” Using both his hand on Dean’s hip and his own hips, Cas slowly moved Dean’s body in the correct way. Using his own body as a backboard, Cas put the motion together, squeezing Dean tightly to himself as he smoothly rolled his body from shoulders to hips.

Dean could feel the pure muscle hiding beneath the lithe frame and feel Cas’s fingertips lightly pressing into his hip and it was too hot. He was on the verge of hyperventilating, his mind short-circuiting. All that he could register was that Cas’s chest was plastered to his back, his hips were fastened to Dean’s ass, his hands were all over Dean’s front, and everything just smelled like _Cas_. Heat rushed to his face and his chest as Cas rolled his body along his again, barely comprehending the move. Coherent sentences failed him as he opened his mouth, and he snapped it shut again, closing his eyes and attempting to concentrate on the dance move and the dance move _alone_. His body was stiff and tense and unable to truly do it, but it was already better than it had been a few minutes ago.

Either completely oblivious to Dean’s virtual panic attack, or completely ignoring it, Cas merely said, “And again.” And again, holding Dean tight and guiding his body, Cas gently rolled them both in sync, no space between them, efficiently shattering Dean’s attempted train of thought. His eyes opened again as Cas’s hips moved his own, his soft breathes hitting Dean’s ear, his hands and arms spread out and directing his chest and waist. Cas paused after this one, waiting to hear what Dean would have to say, still holding on to him as tightly as before. Taking a moment in a valiant attempt to gather his thoughts, Dean pressed his lips together, altogether ignoring Cas’s heartbeat he could still feel through his back.

Treacherous thoughts such as _“Holy fuck, no wonder he’s a stripper.”_ and _“Do it again.”_ trickled through Dean’s mind before he slammed a brick wall down on them. Cas was his “teacher”, and he was a stripper so of _course_ he would do something like this, and it was probably completely normal, and he was just overreacting. Yea, that was it. With visible effort, he lithely slipped out of Cas’s grasp, turning and facing him, willing the heat in his cheeks to die down. “Okay, I think I got it.” he forced out. Dean was proud for having his voice almost steady as he spoke, wishing for a jacket of which he could shove his hands into the pockets.

Cas tilted his head, but nodded. “Okay, Dean. Show me, please.” He took a step back, and Dean found that that made it somewhat easier to breath. Manhandling his mind into concentrating once again, he attempted to copy what they had just done, starting from his shoulders and sending a wave of movement down to his hips. Throwing a glance at Cas, he saw that there was a hint of a smile flitting on his lips. “See? Better already.” he complimented.

Swallowing hard, Dean nodded, attempting to collect himself. With a quick hand gesture to Cas, he walked quickly over to the edge of the stage, sitting down and grabbing his water. As he downed half of the bottle, he resolutely refused to look back at the others on the stage, instead staring out into the empty club. _‘Get your shit together, Winchester.’_

* * *

 

“Hey, Sam, come over here.” Lucifer called over to where Sam was sipping from a water bottle. As he walked closer to the blonde, he continued, “Sit down in the chair. I’m gonna give you another demonstration, show you some new tricks.” Smirking, Lucifer gestured grandly to the lone chair, an excited edge showing on his features.

Sam raised an eyebrow, crossing his arms. Just minutes ago, Lucifer had been praising his lap dances and telling him how much money he’d make working the floor. Of course, Sam had pretty much figured out what was going on; it was another attempt from Lucifer to get Sam to _like_ him. These seemed to happen a lot, and after a long day it sometimes started to get on Sam’s nerves. Glancing over at Dean, who now seemed to be off skulking on the edge of the stage, Sam sighed, shrugging. He walked over to the chair and sunk down onto it, at least glad for the respite it offered his exhausted muscles. “Alright, hit me.”

Giving an almost predatory grin, Lucifer ambled over after him, doing an exaggerated arm stretch. Pushing Sam against the back of the chair, Lucifer settled down on his lap, his full weight resting on Sam’s legs. Before Sam could voice his questions, Lucifer clapped a hand gently on his mouth, shaking his head with a smirk. Sam frowned, furrowing his brow. Lucifer, wiggling his eyebrows and slowly removing his hand, started his “demonstration”

Sam was almost positive that there wasn’t supposed to be this much contact in a lap dance. From glances at Dean and Cas’s, and from what Lucifer had _originally_ told and showed him, it was definitely not supposed to be this… up close and personal. Lucifer was going all out, grinding his hips forcefully against Sam’s, and running his hands up and down Sam’s chest. His hands felt cool where they landed on Sam’s skin, and their heads were so close that Sam could count the stubble on Lucifer’s jaw.

Leaning forward, Lucifer pressed his chest against Sam’s, giving the side of his neck a small nip. Sam jumped, a hand coming up to rub at the spot. Lucifer grabbed the hand, shook his head again, and then bit down gently on Sam’s pointer finger. Releasing the hand, Lucifer winked, before quickly turning around, purposefully rolling his hips into Sam’s dick. Now the dancer’s hands ran lightly down Sam’s thighs and back up, teasing. After a few moments Lucifer spun around again, hands moving to Sam’s shoulders.

Stunned silence was all that Sam could come up with in response. _This_ was obviously why Lucifer was one of the most popular dancers in the club. His hips moved effortlessly above Sam, following invisible patterns and rhythms and rubbing into Sam’s. Hands floated all over him, serving both to distract and overwhelm him. He stared at Lucifer, his mouth slightly open, hands coming up of their own accord to rest just above Lucifer’s knees.

Lucifer smirked, bringing his hands up to tangle in Sam’s hair. “See, Sam, there’s a reason I’m training you.” he murmured, not once faltering in his dancing. Sam swallowed, his mind faintly buzzing in the distance. He could feel heat slowly gathering in his abdomen, and he could feel his pulse skyrocket, but he didn’t make any move to stop the blonde. This dance was _good_ and he was allowed to enjoy it and there wasn’t any harm in it, was there?

Noticing his reaction, Lucifer’s smirk grew into a sharp grin. His hips slowed to a stop, coming to a rest on top of Sam’s. He grasped Sam’s chin in his right hand, turning Sam’s head to the side. “I bet you wish you had accepted my dance that night, huh?” Lucifer chuckled. Suddenly, he licked Sam’s face from jaw to temple, quickly and roughly. Sam’s breath hitched, and choked sounding noise came from his throat. Lucifer snickered deeply, swinging up off of Sam with ease and smoothly walking away.

Sam stayed frozen, mind trying to catch up with his hyperactive body. _‘Holy shit.’_ His cheek tingled, like something cold had been thrown on it. His hands were still lying in front of him, his legs still felt the weight on them, and- if he wasn’t mistaken- he was half hard from that. He tried to bring back his thoughts, control his rampaging mind and _damnit_ it shouldn’t have been that hard.

A sharp cough made Sam look up from where he was staring off into space. Whipping his head around, he saw Dean glaring daggers at both him and Lucifer. Quickly standing up from his chair while looking down and brushing non-existent dirt off of him, Sam asked, “Time to leave already?” His voice came out sounding unsteady, and he winced, inwardly cursing himself. He threw a glance at his tutor, narrowing his eyes at the smug smile.

Snorting, Dean said, “Yea, now let’s go.” Shooting one final glare at Lucifer, he hopped off the stage. Sam noticed that he didn’t say goodbye to Cas, and he frowned as he looked between to two. Dean had his shoulders hunched a bit as he walked away, and Cas had a grimace on his face. As Sam waved to Cas as he followed after Dean, he tried to figure out what was wrong. Did Dean say something to make Cas angry? _‘He has a habit of doing that.’_

The longer Sam though about it, however, the more he began to think that maybe Cas had somehow irritated or embarrassed Dean. The two got along like two peas in a pod, and Dean _usually_ wouldn’t put his foot in his mouth this soon in knowing someone. But if Cas had done something to ruffle Dean’s feathers, then he sure as hell _would_ be pouting right now. He was a baby like that.

Half way back to the apartment, Sam broached the subject. “So… why the cold shoulder towards Cas?”

Dean blinked, glancing over towards him. “What? I’m not giving him the cold shoulder.” he protested.

Rolling his eyes, Sam shot back, “Yea, you were. You didn’t even say ‘bye’.”

Glaring out of the windshield, Dean huffed, “Maybe I said it earlier.”

“ _God_ , you’re so full of it. What happened?” Sam pressed, turning and leaning towards Dean in the seat. Now it was incredibly obvious to Sam that his brother had something eating at him. The usual grumpiness was cranked up, and he was evading all of Sam’s questions. Tell-tale signs in Sam’s book.

“Nothing!” Dean snapped. “I’m fine. Just… a little sore is all.”

Sam glared at Dean before crossing his arms and thumping back into his seat. “You’re such a liar. And a dick.” he muttered.

Snorting, Dean replied, “Whatever, princess.” Sam didn’t respond, merely glared out of his window some more. Something had upset Dean, and if that messed up their new job, then it was a big problem. He just hoped that Dean would get over his ego soon, or else Sam was going to make him.


	13. Unwanted Visitors

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ugh I'm SO sorry guys. I know I suck. Thank you so much for your patience and love :) I'm sorry if bits seemed rushed or sloppy. This chapter was a bear to get out for multiple reasons: I didn't know what to put in there, I just want to skip ahead to the exciting plotty stuff, and also I'm incredibly distracted. It's summer, I went to Germany, I'm hanging out with friends, I'm going to college soon, I have a lot of TV shows I want to watch, blah blah blah.
> 
> BUT HEY IF ANYONE IS GOING TO DASHCON THIS WEEKEND HIT ME UP SO WE CAN HANG :D
> 
> As always, fanart and gifsets are always welcome, as are ideas on ships and plot points.
> 
> Also, happy first birthday to the story :) I suck- I definitely had wanted to be done within a year XD

**Guess what? I made a[playlist ](http://8tracks.com/ijump4life/celestial-touch)for this story. It's basically just songs to strip to. It'll be a work in progress, so feel free to suggest songs to add!**   
  
**Wanna know what moves I'm talking about?[Here's ](http://poledancedictionary.com)the website I use for pole dancing:**   
  
**Also[this](http://aranwen.deviantart.com/art/Dark-Angel-Ring-108916542) is what Sam's pendant looks like (not my design).**   
  
**Follow me on[Tumblr](tolkhien.tumblr.com) at tolkhien for updates, fanart, and visual guides.**

* * *

It was a bit weird, to be back in the club at night time. During that day it was completely empty and quiet, and it seemed like a peaceful retreat. Now, with bodies filling up the available space and music pumping out of the speakers, it seemed more like a nightclub than ever. Dean and Sam squeezed through the crowd, unsure of where they were supposed to go. Tonight was their “studying” lesson, where all they had to do was watch their tutors on stage.

 

“Hey… why don’t we sit on different sides of the stage? Lucifer and Cas aren’t gonna be in the same spot anyway.” Sam suggested; the club rapidly filling up with customers. He actually wanted to somewhat focus on their “assignment” for the night, and he was sure Dean would find some way to screw around.

 

Dean narrowed his eyes for a moment, but then just shrugged and looked away. “Alright. Just stay out of trouble.” After giving him a look that clearly meant ‘trouble=Lucifer’, Dean ambled over to the bar to get a beer before settling down in a seat. Sam forwent the alcohol, instead, he went to sit in a seat on the right-hand side of the stage.

 

They got here later than they planned, so they didn’t have to wait long before the show started. Soon enough, the lights flashed once and then dimmed, and Crowley’s voice seeped out of the speakers. “Welcome, ladies and gentlemen, to Supernatural. Our boys have a celestial touch, and tonight, they’re all yours.”

 

Enthusiastic cheers greeted the first group on stage as the curtain rolled back. Neither Cas nor Lucifer were in this group, so Dean doesn’t have to pay as much attention. However, now that he actually knows the strippers- somewhat- he feels compelled to learn about them, too. Sam was just planning to study everyone anyway.

 

The first group included Camael, Raziel, Jophiel, Zadkiel, and Ariel, and the second group consisted of Raguel, Haniel, Gabriel, Uriel, and Michael. All of the dancers used the same basic moves; the same little spins and turns. But the way each one put them together, and added their own little flairs, was what made each one different and, to be honest, incredible. If they watched carefully, the brothers could actually pick out different mannerisms and techniques in each of the dancers. Camael used his brute strength a lot more than the dancers- his muscles were constantly being used in place of momentum or gravity. Ariel was light and graceful, and he seemed to literally fly around the pole; completely effortless. Raguel seemed to be a climber- he rarely ever touched the floor, and preferred to swing and dance his way up the pole. Michael was powerful and serious, and while he smiled at the customers and winked he seemed focused on his dance, every move purposeful.

 

Of course, whichever two dancers not occupying a pole and dancing at the front of the stage were a sight to see. Gabriel was completely shameless, using Haniel almost like a human pole, grinding on him and taking his shirt off for him. Raziel and Zadkiel, as neither had a shirt on to take off, were very creative in finding ways to tease the audience. Sam couldn’t hold back a startled laugh as Zadkiel tugged Raziel across the stage for a filthy kiss, which alone earned them at least two hundred dollars from the whooping crowd. Dean merely shook his head, amusement and apprehension warring in his gut. To calm that he took another gulp of beer, watching as the group waved goodbye and hurriedly collected their cash.

 

Finally, the third (and final) group walked on stage. Cas, Lucifer, Azrael, and Raphael stepped onto the stage as Crowley read their names over the speakers. As the “finale” group they were the most important, and usually the best dancers were in it. Of course, as all of the strippers were amazing, that meant that the group constantly changed, but Cas and Lucifer were almost always in it.

 

Cas and Azrael took the poles, while Raphael and Lucifer went up front. A total of four songs played- as usual- as the strippers worked their magic. The finale group probably made more than either of the last two groups, which was no surprise. They had the most screams, the most bills, and the most touch-attempts. There was a reason that this group closed off the night, and Crowley knew how to milk a crowd.

 

Cas was obviously the star of this group, in Dean’s opinion. He managed to make everything he did simultaneously effortless and strong, carefree and pointed. As Cas spun and twisted around the pole, Dean could see glimpses of his bare chest and calm face. Near the end of the last sone, Cas climbed all the way to the top of the pole. Hooking both legs around the pole, he let go of it with his hands, and spun into a tailspin all the way to the floor. Just as he was about to crack onto the hard wood of the stage, he swung his arms up and grasped the pole again, sending his lower body swinging around the pole in what Dean recognized as a Chopsticks position. The crowd gasped and cheered, and Dean couldn’t help grin with something like pride. Cas was damn good at his job, and even though Cas was his friend, Dean hoped he never had to dance with him- he would look like a half paralyzed monkey next to him.

 

Sam, meanwhile, was studying Lucifer. The blonde was working the crowd at the front to death, as only he could. His fly was down and every inch of his hipbones were out by the end of the first song, and from the hands that kept reaching up to try and touch him, the customers _loved_ it. Raphael worked just as hard next to him, and between the adorable smile the brunette had on and Lucifer’s ‘pure sex’ vibe, the crowd couldn’t give them enough money. At one point, Lucifer grabbed Raphael and tugged him closer, before gently pushing him onto the floor. Raphael chuckled and let himself be manhandled, and Lucifer climbed on top of the other dancer. Rubbing their hips together, Lucifer let his hands roam up and down Raphael’s chest, even going so far as to unzip his pants. A moment later Lucifer stood back up, pulling the other man with him, and they continued dancing. Sam was impressed- if he were in Raphael’s spot he’s not sure if he would’ve been able to stand back up.

 

And then, they were walking off the stage, collecting their bills, and waving goodbye. Dean blinked a couple times, reaching automatically for his empty beer bottle and then giving up and thunking his head on the table. Sam ran a hand down his face, trying to form a mental list of notes in his mind _besides_ things like _‘Holy fucking shit.’_ As far as lessons went, it was both a failure and a success.

* * *

 _‘Well, that certainly was informative.’_ Dean thought sourly, unwanted feelings rising up and clouding his mind. _‘It was informative that I have some serious problems.’_ Seriously- Cas was his teacher. His coworker. His _friend_. So what if the guy was extremely attractive, especially while he was stripping? Shaking his head, Dean leaned back in his chair. He hadn’t done anything… with _guys_ in years. He had no wish to try that again. None at all. So why was he always doing this to himself over Cas?

 

Surreptitiously scanning the club, Dean spotted plenty of dancers- Jophiel twirling the long red hair of a female customer, Raziel winking at a male customer, Raphael entertaining a whole booth of giggling girls- but not Cas. _‘Of course you’re not gonna see Cas, he’s probably busy shacking up with some rich stranger.’_ And of _course_ that was perfectly fine. That was his job, wasn’t it? His job wasn’t to entertain Dean all night, after all.

 

Settling down lower in his chair with his arms crossed, Dean suddenly felt a hand sweep across his shoulders, right to left. “Hey, sweet stuff. Back for more of me?” He gritted his teeth as he recognized Gabriel’s obnoxious drawl. He should have known the dancer would find him. _‘God damnit.’_

“Nope. I guess this is part of the training.” he shot back, jerking his shoulder out from underneath Gabriel’s hand. He pointedly ignored Gabriel as he swung around to stand in front of Dean, smirking like the Cheshire Cat. “Just here to observe, and all that stuff.” Fixing a glare on the smug blonde, Dean tried to think of reasons for not punching the dancer. He wasn’t too successful.

 

“You know,” Gabriel continued, ignoring Dean’s words completely as he came to a halt in front of Dean, crossing his arms, “since we’re gonna be co-workers and dressing room neighbors now, I figured we should get to know each other.” The words were said with an innocent grin that was somehow more unnerving than if Gabriel had scowled while saying them.

 

Crossing his arms as well, and refusing to stand and rise to the bait, Dean responded, “Really?”

 

Gabriel nodded enthusiastically. “Absolutely. Like what shampoo do you use?” He reached out and ran his hand quickly through Dean’s hair, earning a forceful smack on his arm. Laughing, Gabriel continued, “Come on, princess, get that stick outta your ass! Just trying to have a little fun!” The twinkle in his eyes was looking less mischievous and more insane every second to Dean.

 

Rolling his eyes, Dean complained, “Can’t you go find someone else to bother? I’m sure there’s plenty of people who would actually like to be around you. Unlike me.” He paused, hoping to get through to the dancer.

 

From the same smug grin and the chuckles, it was obvious it didn’t work. “Yea, but where’s the fun in that, when I have my favorite newbie to tease!” Dean took a deep breath, balling up his fists. _‘Man, what I wouldn’t give to knock this guy out.’_ But hey, he was learning self-control more and more every day, right?

 

“Gabriel.” The rumbling voice behind him was like a breath of fresh air, and Dean could’ve cried with joy at seeing Cas’s face. The other dancer was standing tall and tense behind the chair, and he was giving a death glare that Dean was quickly dubbing ‘Cas’s smiting face’. “Leave Dean alone. He is my student, and is supposed to be observing the dancers.”

 

Grinning brightly, Gabriel threw open his arms. “Cassie! Relax! I’m just poking fun at Deano here. He really is too easy to rile up.” He winked at Dean, who then got up to stand next to Cas, clearly showing who he considered his friend. A sly look quickly crossed the blonde’s face, but he just winked jauntily and walked off, presumably to find someone else to prey on.

 

Dean turned towards Cas, running a hand through his hair. “Uh, thanks for that. Not sure I would’ve gotten out of there without throwing some fists.” Cas simply nodded in response. He was wearing his same tan trench coat, open over his bare chest. His hair still looked like he had wild bed head- or sex hair- and he was, as always, was way up close in Dean’s personal bubble (which, oddly, he didn’t seem to mind so much anymore). It might be strange, but to Dean it seemed like the _look_ for Cas. He would look weird in anything else- like his workout clothes for the lessons.

 

It took him a moment to realize that he was staring at Cas for a bit too long to be considered normal. Looking away while clearing his throat, Dean searched for a new topic of conversation. The club was still at full swing even after midnight, with winged strippers roaming around the excited crowd. As he saw Camael escorting an elegant looking woman up the spiral staircase, he blurted out the first thing that came into his mind. “So, do you ever have to bring the customers up there?”

 

If Cas was surprised by the question, he didn’t show it. “No. Here at the club, each dancer has a choice whether or not he wants to engage in those… activities. I choose not to- it’s not something that would be enjoyable to me.” Even though his deep voice still managed to cut across the music, Dean would never admit to anyone that he may have purposefully moved closer to the dancer. To hear him, of course.

 

He would also never admit the warm curl of… _something_ that came into his chest as Cas explained it to him. That Cas thought those sketchy appointments were beneath him, and that he refused to go down to that level. No, it most certainly was not about that. Dean put it down to the fact that he was allowed to skip out of the “having sex with strangers every night” activity.

 

“Awesome. I’ll most likely opt outta that, then.” he replied with a grin.

 

Cas’s lips quirked up- which was as good as a full-blown smile for him- and he shook his head slightly. “I thought you would.” was all the dancer said. “Anyway, I have to go and meet with more customers, or else Crowley will get angry. Don’t forget to meet us after the club closes- you can wait up here by the stage.”

 

Dean nodded, waving as Cas turned and waded back into the crowd, almost immediately getting flagged down by a businessman in a well-tailored suit. At that point he turned away, instead opting to go sit at the bar to have a good drink. For once, though, he didn’t feel like he _needed_ it- his nerves were settled and his hands weren’t shaking. Not even Balthazar’s quip about him being a Ken doll managed to piss him off. Hell, this might’ve been the best mood he’d been in all day.

* * *

  _‘Deciding to sit on the other side of the stage as Dean was a good idea.’_ Sam thought to himself as he spotted Lucifer weaving his way over to his chair. He knew- and so did Lucifer- that Dean was none too fond of the blonde, and preferred as little contact with him as possible. He wanted that same thing for Sam, but unfortunately that wouldn’t work as he was Sam’s _tutor_.

 

“Hey Sam. How’d you like the show?” Lucifer asked as he reached Sam. He immediately swung a leg over Sam and settled down on his knees, looking expectantly at Sam like this was the most normal thing to be doing. Which, he supposed, for Lucifer it was.

 

Stuttering a bit, Sam answered, “Oh, yea, yea, it was really good. You’ll have to teach me how to do that move, the one that looks like you’re walked up the air.” He felt proud of himself for managing to get out a normal sentence as Lucifer started walking his hands up and down Sam’s thighs.

 

He had always liked girls. It was Dean who seemed to have some big gay panic going on. Sam was comfortable with himself, and he knew himself well enough, in his own opinion. _‘So why does Lucifer always manage to get a reaction out of me?’_ He didn’t have an answer, and by looking at Lucifer, the only explanation that he could come up with was that the dancer was hot to either gender.

 

Grinning, Lucifer glanced up at Sam through his eyelashes. “Yea? I can do that.” He nodded almost absentmindedly, giving Sam a sly smirk. “There’s still plenty to learn from the master.” Sam chuckled at that, dutifully ignoring the wandering fingers. Lucifer was more touchy than usual, and it made Sam shift in his seat. Searching for a conversation away from the pole dancing and lap-sitting, Sam caught a gleam of metal from Lucifer’s chest.

 

Sam had never been up close and personal with a shirtless Lucifer before, so he was a bit surprised to see that, upon further inspection, he definitely had his right nipple pierced. _‘To be honest, it shouldn’t be_ that _surprising.’_ he thought. A silver ring caught the dim lights of the club, flashing subtly every so often. Seeing Sam’s studying look, the blonde grinned. “Like it? I got it while I was drunk one night a couple months ago. I kept it in for the hell of it, and now it helps with my image.” He winked, and Sam couldn’t resist a huff of laughter. He wasn’t wrong about that.

 

Lucifer cut an impressive figure, even in the club surrounded by the other dancers. He was one of the tallest, and his spiky hair made him look even taller. With his left ear and- apparently- right nipple pierced, his leather dog collar, and his motorcycle, he was the epitome of ‘sexy bad guy’. Sam was sure that it worked on almost every single girl in here, and a lot of the guys, too. God knows he’d been having confusing reactions to the licentious blonde recently.

 

With a flash of guilt, Jess popped into Sam’s mind, wearing a pissed expression. Even if she had encouraged them earlier to get these jobs, she most likely would not be okay with the outrageous amount of flirting that was going on. Because there was definitely something going on with Lucifer, and if Sam wasn’t careful, he could cause some deep shit. He swallowed as Lucifer’s hand swept yet again up his thigh. His subconscious was right- this had gone far enough.

 

Lucifer obviously didn’t know where the limit was. Or he didn’t care where it was. Either way, Sam had to put an end to this; it was already getting out of hand. Enjoying spending time with Lucifer was one thing; allowing the dancer to shamelessly flirt and hit on him without saying anything was another. He just hoped Lucifer wasn’t going to be nasty to him about it afterwards. That was just what he didn’t need- first day on the job, and the best dancer hating his guts.

 

“Look… Lucifer….” Sam sighed, pushing a hand firmly onto his shoulder. The blonde paused, studying Sam with a cocked head. “You’re a cool guy, and I like hanging out with you. You make me laugh, and you’re not a bad guy. But… you need to stop with the flirting. Or at least tone it down a little bit.” He paused, biting his lip. His conflicting feelings about the promiscuous blonde stripper did not need to see the light of day. “I have a girlfriend… Jess… and I love her. So… understand that, please, or….” Sam trailed off with a shrug, not really sure what he was intending to do if Lucifer didn’t listen.

 

Watching the dancer, he saw his eyes narrow infinitesimally for a fraction of a second, before Lucifer fell back into his easy smirk. “Okay, okay, I can respect that. True love, and all that.” Shrugging, Lucifer stood up, brushing non-existent dirt from his front. Sam frowned, sensing something beneath Lucifer’s calm exterior. He waited for the blonde to say something else, a sarcastic quip or _something_ , but nothing came. Lucifer smiled, incredibly soft looking for the usual jokester, and took a step back. “I’m serious. I know when to stop. Can’t say I’m not disappointed,” At this his smile turned a bit wry, and he looked more like his usual self, “but your heart’s in the right place, Sam.”

 

With that, Lucifer mussed Sam’s hair. “So, I’ll see you at the little meeting after closing, right?” Sam, still a little wide-eyed, nodded, and watched as Lucifer walked away deeper into the club. He let out a deep breath he didn’t know he had been holding, swiping both hands over his face. Well, that had been easier than expected. Almost too easy…. He certainly hoped that the dancer was being truthful, and that he would respect Sam’s wishes. Of course, you could never tell with Lucifer. He supposed only time would tell….

* * *

 

Hours later, all of the patrons had finally been ejected from the club. Sam was yawning hugely, and Dean had even gotten bored at the bar, as Balthazar had only tried to annoy him the longer he was there. He hadn’t even drank enough whiskey to get him drunk, and now all he wanted to do was go home and crawl into his bed. Well, his couch.

 

Around 2:30, the dancers started filing up the spiral staircase from their dressing rooms, each toting a duffle bag of sorts. They sat in various chairs around the stage, some splitting off noticeably into separate groups. Dean had been mentally practicing the strange names of the dancers, figuring it would come in handy once he started. Camael, Uriel, Michael, and Zadkiel all huddled together on the edge of the group, whispering and shooting obvious looks over at Dean and Sam. The really quiet one ( _‘Azrael!’_ ) was in the back of the group, sitting low in his chair with his arms crossed. Balthazar, Raziel, Haniel, Jophiel, the kid ( _‘Ariel, right?’_ ), Raphael, and Raguel were all in one big clump in the middle, talking and laughing with way too much energy for this late at night. Cas and Lucifer came to stand by their students, and Gabriel followed, moving to try and squeeze between the two brothers. A small tussle followed, where a smirking Gabriel finally just pulled a chair over and sat down right next to Dean.

 

A few minutes later, Crowley finally came down from his office, walking over to stand in front of the group. Even Hound made his way over from his corner, coming to stand behind Crowley. “Lovely night, boys, well done.” he began, a small smattering of applause following. “This will be real quick, I promise. I’ve just got a couple of announcements.” He paused, waiting for the last of the murmuring to quiet down.

 

“So, first of all, I thought you all would like to know that a Ms. Bela Talbot has been officially banned from the club.” This news was met with various cheers and hoots, and Sam and Dean looked at each other, wondering who this woman was.

 

Seeing the confusion, Cas leaned forward and explained. “She comes here two or three times a week. Incredibly rich, throws a lot of money around, but… she’s a bitch.” Dean smirked at Cas’s cursing, never really hearing him do it before. “Very handsy, and won’t take no for an answer. I’m glad someone finally did something about it.”

 

Uriel echoed Cas’s words. “It’s about time that someone did something about that horrid woman.” he scowled. Various murmurs of agreement sounded through the crowd. Even Balthazar was nodding enthusiastically at the news.

 

“I liked her- she was witty.” Raphael piped up, earning him a smack on the head from Raguel.

 

Before a whole new discussion could form, Crowley loudly cleared his throat. “Also- I’d like to officially introduce the two new dancers. Dean, Sam.” He gestured for them to come in front of the group, a small smirk on his face (as per usual).

 

The two- Dean more hesitantly than Sam- made their way to where Crowley was. Some of the dancers cheered, some clapped, while a certain pair of obnoxious blondes wolf whistled. Sam gave a small wave, while Dean simply smiled. A large majority- mostly the big group in the middle- of the dancers actually seemed to be happy to see them. Azrael and Uriel looked indifferent, while Zadkiel, Camael, and Michael stared in a way that made Dean bristle.

 

“Dean, and Sam.” Crowley said again, pointing to them in turn, “Trained by Castiel and Lucifer, and now, they’re going to be full-time dancers!” Again a smattering of applause. “Their first day on the job will be next Monday. So, as is custom, they’ll get their wings, costumes, and names tonight.” Now the dancers were cheering again, and even Michael’s little group was clapping.

 

Dean and Sam weren’t sure what that meant, and they watched warily as Crowley rummaged in a cardboard box on the side of the stage that definitely hadn’t been there a few minutes ago. He pulled out two long, plastic-wrapped packages, handing one to each of the boys. “These are your wings, which will be part of your ‘uniform’.”

 

Examining them as Crowley turned around to dig through the box again, Dean let out a small huff of laughter. He had _wings_. They were mottled brown wings, with golden and white streaks spread over them. Opening up the package, he felt them. They were incredibly soft, and looked like they were made from real feathers. Hell, maybe they were. Glancing over at Sam’s still-unopened bag, he saw that they black on top and faded to brown, with brown streaks throughout. If he was being honest, both sets of wings kicked ass.

 

Next, Crowley handed them each a small stack of clothing. “And here’s the rest of your uniform.” Sam had two pairs of black shorts, ones that didn’t even reach his knees. Great. Then he had a silver pendant on a thick black rope. Looking closer, he saw that it was in the shape of a pair of wings, pointing straight up, with a large black gem in the middle. It actually looked really cool, and it was big enough that it would be visible on stage. But… _‘There’s no shirt.’_ Sam suppressed a sigh. Looked like he’d be one of the shirtless dancers. Looking over at his brother, he saw- with a bit of jealousy- that Dean had both shirts and shorts. The shirts were tight, dark green v-necks, and they went with two pairs of short khaki shorts. Dean didn’t look pleased with the length of the shorts, but overall his ‘uniform’ definitely could’ve been worse.

 

“Thank you.” Sam said for the both of them, gesturing with the clothing. A child-like excitement was growing in him, from a combination of being given things and the start of something new. He didn’t bother to hide his smile from Crowley.

 

Crowley tipped his head. “You’re welcome.” He clapped his hands together, and the murmuring that had grown while the uniform exchange was happening quickly died down. “Now, the fun part.” he announced. “As you know, everyone at the club sports an archangelic name. Not only does it protect their real identity, it also adds to the atmosphere.” Crowley paused. “Some came to our club with their names, actually. But most were given them, like you two.”

 

Walking towards Sam, Crowley did a mock flourish that had titters coming from Gabriel and Ariel. “Sam, you are now Jeremial. He is the angel in charge of helping people with life changes, choosing the right path, and prophetic visions.” He clapped Sam on the shoulder before moving onto Dean. “You, Dean, are now Chamuel. He is the angel of relationships, healing negative emotions, and helping people whose hearts are too hardened to love.”

 

The smirk at the end of that sentence had Dean’s hackles raised. He was positive that Crowley was jabbing at him, somehow. Either about not having a girl like Sam, or not having any family left, or _something_. Dean certainly had his fair share of ‘negative emotions’, even if he didn’t like to show it. He narrowed his eyes at the manager, still managing to give him a small smile and nod.

 

Clapping started up again in the small crowd, and the brothers made their way back to their chairs near their tutors. Crowley raised his hands up for silence yet again. “Alright, alright you lot, settle down. Just one more announcement.” His voice took on a supremely annoyed tone, and his face hardened. “Whoever thinks that drawing signs that say ‘The D is in here’, complete with a picture of a cock on the private room doors, stop it, or I will cut _your_ cock off and hang it on my wall.”

 

Laughter spread throughout the dancers, and even Azrael was grinning. Sam checked, and yep- there it was- Dean was snickering behind his hand. Figures. Gabriel, however, was laughing the hardest. Turning around and raising an eyebrow, Sam saw the smaller man almost bent double, smacking his leg and wheezing around his giggles. _‘So, Gabriel probably did it.’_ Sam reasoned, shaking his head and turning back to the front.

 

Just as Crowley opened his mouth to say something else- hopefully a dismissal- the metal door of the club swung open with a _bang_. Heads turned almost simultaneously towards it- usually you have to be let in from the inside. Four figures walked through the door and over to the crowd; two females and one male. One female had long, dark brown hair, and the other had long blonde hair, and walked with a cocky strut in their step. The males had short, dark hair, and they, too, exuded an air of smugness. All four were well dressed and well-groomed, looking like they had just stepped out of a magazine. The tiny group stopped just behind the first row of chairs, simply staring at the dancers.

 

Hound made a move to go at the group, but Crowley held up a hand. After twenty or so seconds of silence, he said, “You must be some of Abaddon’s.” The tense way he held his shoulders showed this was not a good thing. The whole club had fallen silent, each dancer watching the exchange with some amount of apprehension. Dean and Sam wondered what “Abaddon’s” meant, and why the air was suddenly thick enough to cut with a knife.

 

The taller of the two males **(Lee Pace)** stepped forward, sliding his hands into his pockets. “Yes, yes we are.” His voice was smooth as honey, but there was an undertone that suggested danger. “I’m Azazel, and they are Alistair,” he pointed to the shorter male **(Sebastian Stan)** , “Meg,” he pointed to the darker haired female, “and Ruby.” He finished by gesturing to the blonde woman.

 

There was silence after the introductions, as if the new group were waiting to hear names in return. They didn’t. After a few moments, Alistair spoke up. “Abaddon had heard that you were having some… trouble over here. Wanted us to come find out how everything was going.” His eyes darted around the group, watching for some reaction to the obvious prod. There was none.

 

Crowley, oily businessman that he was, just smirked. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. Everything is perfectly fine. Look, we even have some more recruits.” He gestured to the Winchesters, who were immediately studied harshly by four pairs of sharp eyes. Sam fidgeted under the scrutiny, while Dean settled for glaring at Crowley for putting them on the spot.

 

“That’s cute, but we all know that’s not what we’re talking about.” Meg snickered, crossing her arms. At her side, Ruby smiled sharply, a knowing glint in her eye. “We know about the murders, Crowley.” Meg continued, nonchalantly examining her fingernails.

 

Immediately, all of the dancers in the room stiffened, quiet mutters and hisses spreading through the group. Crowley actually looked shocked, but tried to cover it. “And how, pray tell, did you find out about that?”

 

Ruby waved a hand. “It doesn’t matter how, does it? Either way, we know, and Abaddon says that it won’t be long before you lose too many dancers to keep this place running.” She narrowed her eyes and cocked her head, all bluntness and sharpness.

 

More whispering broke out at that, and Crowley glared down at his dancers. “Well, then Abaddon would be wrong.” he declared, trying to get control back over the situation. “The last one was almost a month ago, and nothing has happened since.”

 

“Whatever you say.” Alistair said condescendingly. The small group snickered at that, and a tense silence enveloped Crowley’s dancers. Sam could practically hear the doubts springing into peoples’ minds. What if it wasn’t over? Who would be next? Who’s doing this?

 

The next one to speak was Zadkiel. “And how do we know that you aren’t killing our dancers?” Various affirmations and quiet accusations could be heard.

 

Azazel smirked, shaking his head. “Please. We don’t need to kill your strippers to see your business fall. Besides, that’s much too messy.” At that the small group started walking back to the door, conversation obviously finished. A loaded silence followed them out, punctuated only by the _slam_ of the metal door.

 

Crowley shifted his weight on the stage, obviously agitated. “Well, then, I think that’s enough for one night. See you all tomorrow.” He turned around and went straight up to his office, anger in every tense step. The room exploded with noise as soon as he was out of sight, the dancers throwing blame and insults at the intruders.

 

Dean and Sam immediately turned to Cas and Lucifer. “Who were those guys?” Sam asked, at the exact same time that Dean questioned, “Who the hell is Abaddon?”

 

Cas answered Dean first. “Abaddon is the owner of an escort business a few minutes into the city. It’s very high class, very expensive, and very popular. For obvious reasons, they detest strippers, and think of us as beneath them.” Derision and scorn bled through every word, and Dean could see that the group really ruffled Cas’s feathers.

 

“Yea, basically they’re total dicks.” Lucifer offered, making Cas’s lips turn up. “But those are the main escorts she uses, her ‘favored ones’.” He shrugged, and exaggerated apathy surrounding his words. “They are loved by the people, and in turn love themselves even more.” Sam chuckled, but Dean just shook his head.

 

He turned back towards Cas, quietly asking, “Do you think that they’re behind the murders?” They obviously seemed likely candidates. They knew about the murders that not even the police did, they were assholes, and they basically threatened Crowley with more deaths. To Dean, they seemed to be the culprits.

 

Cas, however, just shrugged. “I don’t know, Dean. They could be. But we would have seen them on the tapes coming into the club.” He shook his head, shrugging again. “They could be. They might not be. Either way, I have a feeling that something bad is going to happen soon.”

 

_‘Well isn’t that just comforting as hell.’_


	14. First Dance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry this is so late!! My family had a yard sale, so this past week was super busy for me. My beta also was very busy, but now the chapter's out! Also GISHWHES started so I've been panicking about that as well.
> 
> ANYWAY
> 
> As always, plot ideas, ship opinions, gifsets, fanart- all are appreciated. Thanks guys :)

**[Follow me](tolkhien.tumblr.com) on Tumblr for fanart, updates, and visual guides!**

* * *

 

Dean woke up on Monday morning with elephants stampeding through his stomach. Today was the day that he started his career as a stripper. If someone had told him this time last year that this was where he was going to be, he would’ve laughed his ass off at them. Told them to fuck off. And look where he was now. _‘Life’s a bitch, ain’t it.’_

Sam woke up with a mix of nervousness and excitement coursing through him. Today was the day they started their new jobs, and possibly a new chapter of their lives. If this worked out, money would cease to be a problem; they could move into a new house, get Sam a car, and maybe even get real credit cards. He didn’t care that Dean didn’t share his optimism- it was rare that he did. 

The day passed by in a blur, the brothers going through the motions rather than being one hundred percent there in their activities. Bobby noticed, and told Dean to just go home after he had spilled oil on the floor for the third time. Dean then spent the next couple hours trying (and only partially failing) to resist the temptation to get raging drunk. Sam went through his classes in a daze, unfortunately not learning anything about group-think in his Psychology class. If Jess noticed anything on the way home, she didn’t comment, merely reaching over and taking his hand.

Dean was determined not to show Sam how nervous he was, though. All afternoon he kept the talk casual, light, and completely fake. He knew it, and he knew that Sam knew it. Luckily, Sam, too, was too deep in his own thoughts to try and make real conversation with his brother. Once it was time to head over to the club, however, Dean kept silent the whole drive, answering Sam’s blasé questions about his day with short replies. Of course, Sam knew what was going on. He knew his brother better than anyone, and he knew that when Dean was inwardly nervous over something, but trying to hide it, he acted exactly like this. _Every_ time.

All too soon the brothers pulled up to the ramshackle building, and stared at it for a moment in silence. It was only 8:45, and as Cas had assured the two, that was a perfectly fine time to show up, as most dancers still wouldn’t be there yet. Each was lost in his own thoughts, though one set was decidedly more pessimistic than the other. After a minute, by an unspoken signal, the Winchesters got out of their car and headed off across the parking lot.

They went through the door (manned, as always, by the Hulk), past Balthazar and his smirk, down the steps, down the hall, and into their dressing room. They’d been given their keys to it at their last training day on Saturday. Sam had brought an old-looking gym duffle bag, black and unadorned. Dean had his costume and wings in an old camouflage backpack, no doubt one of their dad’s.

Dean and Sam got silently dressed, and could hear quiet chatter as the rooms around them filled up. Dean couldn’t help but listen for Cas’s deep rumble, because surely he was already here, but he couldn’t hear anything decipherable. _‘Hopefully he’ll come and at least wish us good luck or something.’_ Dean thought, packing his street clothes back into his bag. Sam was focusing on going over moves and routines in his head, because he was absolutely sure that he would somehow screw up something tonight. Plus, they were dancing in singles tonight, so if he messed up, there was nothing else up there to distract the customers. The possibility of botching it on his first night was what really scared him.

The two started stretching in am extended silence, repeating the motions they’d been taught at training. They had made it almost all the way through when a knock at the door startled them, making Sam jump and hit his head on the counter. Dean opened the door, revealing Cas on the other side. “Hello, Dean. Sam.” he greeted, inclining his head. “Are you two getting settled in okay?” The boys could see that he was already in costume, trench coat waving around his legs.

Sam answered in place of Dean, who he knew wouldn’t manage to ask anything of importance. “Yea, Cas, thanks. Just, uh… how do we look?” Sam looked a bit embarrassed to be asking that question, and Dean agreed with him. He shuffled his feet as Cas very obviously looked him over, and then Sam. 

“You look fine, Sam.” he began, and Sam felt a smile tick at his lips, born out of sheer anxiety. “Dean, you look good as well, although….” Dean was apprehensive when he saw Cas whirl back into his room and poke around on his counter. He returned a moment later with a bottle of what Dean was surprised to see was hair gel. Sam chuckled at Dean’s obvious indignance.

Dean held up a hand as Cas squeezed some onto his fingers, making the blue-eyed dancer freeze. “Um… why?” he asked. He’d never really styled his hair before, always keeping it relatively short. He was no Sasquatch like Sam.

Shrugging, Cas advanced on Dean. “It is something that Crowley has said that customers enjoy. He calls it sex hair.” Cas’s tone showed that he didn’t put much stock into Crowley’s observation. Dean hesitantly lowered his arm, allowing Cas to do as he pleased. It didn’t take long, and when Cas was finished, Dean had to admit that it did look like he’d just been roughing it up. Sam gave a nod of approval; Cas had just spiked up the front portion of Dean’s hair, much like how Dean had used to wear it as a kid. Except now it looked more ‘raunchy’ than ‘cute’.

“Now, remember,” Cas said, wiping his hands on the edge of his overcoat and pocketing the bottle. “We’re doing singles tonight, but don’t worry- it’ll be easier than you think. Crowley picks the music, so you’ll find out the song once you get out on stage. Remember your training, go with the flow, and just try to have fun.” His eyes alighted on Dean, seeming to see completely through him. “It will be fun, and I think that you will not regret this decision.” 

With that he was gone, sweeping out of their room. Sam and Dean looked at each other, both a little confused and worried, but at a loss as to what to do. Sam, after fiddling with the feathered edge of his wing, abruptly got up and left, walking down the hall. He needed to find his tutor to get some last minute wisdom. Dean shrugged, figuring Sam needed space. They both were on edge tonight.

 

* * *

 

Stepping up to the mirror after using the bathroom, Dean started washing his hands, looking at his reflection. He didn’t look any different than normal, though his hair had more product in it than he would have liked. _‘Thanks, Cas.’_ Maybe it was just because it was his own face, but he didn’t think that he looked the part of a male stripper. Hell, he knew he was attractive- 25 years of being called a twink (by guys) and a model (by girls, and some guys) had told him that. But he didn’t look… edgy enough. Dean snorted, shaking his head. This job was already doing things to his mind.

As Dean looked back down from the mirror, he jumped back when he saw that the water was spurting out a dull, dark red. He looked at his hands, which were now colored deep red from the wrist down. _‘What in the ever-loving fuck….’_ Swallowing- chanting to himself that it was _not_ blood, it wasn’t- he cautiously looked at the sink faucet. All traces of shock fell away as he saw two dark red life savers stuck to the underside of the faucet. The warm water and started to melt them, showering Dean’s hands with liquid candy. _‘Now I wonder who could have done this.’_

Storming out of his dressing room, Dean yelled, “Gabriel!” The dancer in question turned from his conversation with Jophiel, eyes dancing. Jophiel took one look at Dean and stepped back, joining a couple other dancers who were gathering in the hallway to see what was going on.

“Yes, dear?” he asked ‘innocently’, though his grinning expression pretty much decided his guilt.

In response, Dean held up his hands, scowling at Gabriel. At the sight of them, Gabriel and the watching dancers started laughing. “Oh, shut up.” Dean snapped. “Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t smash your face in right now.” 

“Oh, come on Deano, lighten up!” Gabriel said, holding his arms out as if presenting a show. “It’s just a little fun!” Raphael and Haniel snickered loudly behind him, and just laughed more when Dean turned his glare on them.

Stepping up closer to Gabriel- towering over him by a good half of a foot- Dean got in his face. “Maybe I don’t like your idea of fun, Gabriel. Leave me the _hell_ alone.” he growled. Inwardly, he was proud of himself. If he had been Gabriel, he would’ve been pissing his pants. Dean could be incredibly scary when he wanted to be. 

Of course, Gabriel was obviously not a sane or normal individual. He just winked and sauntered off towards the stairs, ducking suddenly into one of the rooms on the left. Dean was left fuming in his doorway, glaring down the hall at where the blonde dancer had disappeared. Eventually he felt, more than heard, someone come up quietly to his side and place a hand on his shoulder. Cas’s scent- something like soap and old books- surrounding him just confirmed Dean’s thoughts.

“We’ll be going upstairs soon, Dean. Just wash your hands and try to ignore Gabriel. The more he gets a rise out of you, the more he’ll target you.” Dean raised an eyebrow, not really believing that it was that simple. He was already calming down somewhat from the encounter; Cas had that effect on him. “I’m serious. Why do you think he’s stopped coming after me?” Dean chuckled, and Cas’s lips lifted slightly in response, making the hallway a little brighter.

Turning around, Dean went to return to his room. “Alright, man, I’ll try. I dunno, he just pushes every single one of my buttons….” As Dean turned on the sink (making sure to remove the candies this time), with Cas still standing in his doorway, they both heard a tremendous crash and a loud growling sound, followed by a decidedly high-pitched scream interlaced with giggles. Turning back around, Dean and Cas watched together as Gabriel fled down the hallway, running at full speed. Azrael was in full pursuit, hands outstretched, chasing the screaming- and laughing- blonde. Again, if Dean had been Gabriel, he would have been pissing himself. Azrael was incredibly scary, period.

Leaping into his and Cas’s room, Gabriel locked the door, and Azrael slammed into it, shouting abuse at Gabriel in a thick Irish accent. “OPEN THE DOOR YOU FUCKING CUNT.” he yelled, pounding on the white door. It held firm, and they heard Gabriel’s heaving breaths and continued giggles from the other side. “GET OUT HERE, FUCKER!” Dean realized with a start that this was the first time he’d heard the dark dancer speak.

Cas, always the mediator, stepped in. “Azrael, what happened?” he asked softly, as if approaching a wild animal. Dean admired his ability to keep his cool and calm down others. It was like an aura he had, or some other new-age hippie crap.

Breathing heavily, Azrael replied shortly, “He thought it’d be funny to throw some sort of fucking smoke bomb in my room, and it smells like _shit_.” Now that he looked, Dean could see tendrils of greenish smoke coming from the last room on the left, and he winced. No wonder Azrael was pissed. 

Cas raised his hands pleadingly. “I can see that. But it’s the beginning of the week, and if you beat him, then he won’t be able to dance for a couple nights. Then Crowley would be very upset, and it would cause problems for the rest of us.” He stared at Azrael, wordlessly asking him to step down. Azrael continued to scowl darkly at Cas, but it seemed that some of the tension was leaking out of him. Logic always wins. _‘Well, most of the time.’_

“Everyone, that’s _enough_.” Michael’s voice sounded down the hallway, and everyone’s heads swiveled to look at him. He and Camael were standing at the top of the hallway, Ariel and Zadkiel watching from behind them. Ariel looked pale, probably from also being trapped in the room with the stink bomb. Zadkiel just looked uninterested. “Everyone needs to be quiet and stop acting like children.”

Nodding, Camael continued where Michael had left off, arms crossed and practically bulging. “The show is going to start in less than ten minutes. Start getting in line.” With that, the dancers all started migrating to the top of the hallway, all murmuring and laughing amongst themselves. Looking around uncertainly, Dean began to follow them, and Sam materialized at his shoulder. 

“Where were you?” Dean asked quietly, slowing down as he neared the crowd of dancers. He wasn’t really sure where to go, and anxiety was back in full force. Gabriel’s antics had helped him forget, but now that it was time, he wasn’t sure that he could do it. _‘I haven’t been this nervous since… shit, I can’t even remember.’_

Sam whispered, “I was talking to Lucifer. Getting some last minute advice, and all that.” As much as Dean disapproved of Lucifer, he couldn’t blame Sam. Dean was freaking out even while Cas had been trying to give him tips. To say that Dean was panicking was an understatement. “Any idea what we’re doing?” Sam asked.

“I have no clue.” Dean muttered, looking surreptitiously around at the other dancers. They all seemed to know where they were going, but none deigned to tell the brothers where they should go. The crowd of dancers was still shifting and moving, and Dean looked up front, where he could see Cas at the front of the line. But he was in deep conversation with Michael, so Dean failed to get his attention.

Just when Dean was considering ducking back into his dressing room to hide, he felt a tap on his shoulder. He and Sam turned around to see Raphael smiling at them. “You looked a bit lost. Need some help?” He sounded sincere, without any mocking in his voice.

Sam nodded, laughing a little. “Um, yea, that’d be great. Where do we go in the line?” 

Raphael thought for a moment, tapping his lip with a long finger. “Let’s see… the order tonight goes Castiel, Raguel, Zadkiel, Chamuel, Jophiel, Raziel, Raphael, Ariel, Gabriel, Haniel, Michael, Jeremial, Azrael, Camael, Uriel, Lucifer.” he rattled off, leaving Dean and Sam open-mouthed. Raphael, with a bright grin, continued, “So, Chamuel, you are behind Zadkiel, and Jeremial, you are behind Michael!” 

“Uh… thanks.” Dean said, amazed at how the dancer could remember the whole line up, just like that. _‘I suppose it comes with practice.’_ Swallowing, he and Sam split up to go to their respective positions in line, waiting for the next set of instructions. Zadkiel gave him a sideways glance, but otherwise said nothing. Jophiel gave him a clap on his shoulder and a smile, but it really didn’t help Dean’s nervousness. Before Dean even had any time to start worrying again, Cas started leading the line of dancers up the spiraling steps. Taking a deep breath, Dean followed Zadkiel up onto the main floor.

 

* * *

Crowley’s voice interrupted the usually-continuous music. “And now, valued patrons, welcome our first new dancer of the night, Chamuel.” A huge round of applause sounded at that, and Dean took that as his cue. He stepped out across the stage, heart pounding. He’d never done well with big groups of people he probably got stage fright why was he doing this oh fuck this was going to end _terribly_. 

Hesitantly, he stopped by the middle pole and gripped it with his right hand, waiting for his song to start. There was no telling what his song would be… he just had to make it up as he went along, as Cas had told him. Dean could feel his palms sweating against the cool metal of the pole. As the beginning notes of Cherry Pie trickled out of the speakers, he could have cried in relief. _‘Warrant… nice. I’ll have to thank whoever suggested that.’_ With increased confidence, he began to dance.

Starting out with a Fireman Swing into an Invert, Dean moved with the music, letting the bass seep into his bones. Hoisting himself back up again, he climbed to the top of the pole, spinning back down to the bottom in a Tabletop. Dean couldn’t help but laugh; he was just doing exactly what he had done in practice, and from the sounds of the crowd, he was doing a great job. 

His favorite moves were the spins, so he was up and down the pole constantly, each time using a different position to get back down. He also enjoyed the feats of strength, such as Flagpoles, because that impressed a lot of people. 

Within a minute he was lost to the music, just working his way around the pole and listening to the beat and the cheers. He decided that he liked this, just him and his thoughts and the pole. He wondered briefly if this is what Cas was talking about when he had mentioned enjoying the independence of it. 

The pleasant ache and burn of his muscles, combined with the adrenaline from dancing, made him grin as he danced. Dean never really put much thought into what he was going to do next, just letting the momentum carry him where it would, and adjusting his body afterwards. It seemed to be working out, as he hadn’t fallen or slipped yet. 

Eventually, he noticed that the second song had ended, and he hadn’t even thought to pay attention to what it was. But he did remember that he was supposed to leave the pole behind and entertain the crowd at front stage after two songs. Breathing harshly after all of his acrobatics, Dean dismounted, somewhat unhappily, and paced to the front of the stage.

He could make out smiles and excited grins, and, in a moment of pure confidence, bent down to grab a woman’s hand to kiss it. She squealed, and when he withdrew his hand there was a twenty stuffed into it. _‘Sweet!’_ he thought, pocketing it with a wink. The third song well underway- this time it was some techno song that he didn’t recognize- he began to strip.

First was the shirt, though he took notes from previous dancers he’d seen and took it off as slow as possible. Inch by inch he worked it up his body, sweat making it stick to his skin. When it was finally off, he threw it behind him with a flourish, earning him a few screams. Circling his hips like he was taught to do, he ran hands down his torso and back up, even mussing up his hair. 

He got down on one knee at the front of the stage again, and immediately hand darted up to run up his legs. That was… slightly unnerving, but nothing he couldn’t handle. Sliding backwards, he stood up again, turning his back to the audience. With a wry grin at the memory of learning it, he did a few body rolls, looking over his shoulder at the excited crowd. _‘So far, so good.’_

Just to try it, Dean let his hands creep down to the hem of his shorts. Slowly, not quite looking up at the crowd, he unbuttoned it, and began to unzip the fly. Yelling and shouts greeted that action, all seemingly in favor of him going further. Smiling at them, he shook his head theatrically, instead running a hand along the wings on his back, trying to recall some of Cas’s talented moves.

Luckily, the final song drew to a close, and Dean exhaled strongly. More cheers went up, and he could see more bills being tossed up onto the stage. He hurriedly collected the money strewn about, shoving handfuls into his pockets and wrapped up in his shirt. Waving at the customers, he jogged off stage, nodding to Jophiel as the brunette walked on after him.

Behind the stage, in the little hallway, Dean passed Sam. He gave his brother thumbs up, enthusiastically showing him the cash he’d gotten. Sam smiled back, nodding. Dean continued on down the stairs, heading to his room to put away the money. He was still floating on adrenaline and excitement, and he whistled as he went.

If every night was this enjoyable and this profitable, Dean may come to love this job.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Sam managed to watch most of Dean’s performance from back stage, and he had to admit, he was stunned. Dean had been reluctant enough in coming here, and had argued viciously at first, but _damn_ had his attitude changed. He worked the stage like he owned it, and from the sheer amount of bills being tossed up at him, it was totally working. 

Michael coming down the short set of stairs at the back of the stage was Sam’s cue to head up. Michael gave him a small nod of encouragement as he passed, but that did nothing to steady Sam’s nerves. He had been fine earlier in the day, but the anxiety had been steadily getting worse and worse ever since he had started getting dressed. He tried to calm his breathing down as he hit the stage and felt all of those eyes on him.

As he had when Dean had gone out, Crowley paused the music to announce Sam. “Esteemed customers, please welcome our second new dancer of the night, Jeremial.” His voice oozed out of the speakers, and Sam was met with wild cheers and applause. Apparently the crowd was riled up already, which Sam hoped meant that he would be received well. The beginning beats of Seven Devils- but a bass-filled, digitalized version- began vibrating in Sam’s chest, and he took a deep breath before stepping up to the pole. 

Each move he thought out, trying to do the best transitions and switches possible. Sam used chunks of routines that he had learned at training and had been running through his head all day. He went from a version of Splits to a Backwards Chair back into a different version of Splits, all smoothly running into one another. He could feel sweat beading on his skin, but his grip on the metal was firm and sure.

Time passed almost unnoticed, and he was in deep concentration on his dancing and movement. He just really, really didn’t want to slip off or fall, because that would be the worst. But everything went smoothly, and he could almost feel the shift and slide of his muscles and bones as they worked around the pole, swinging and dropping and climbing. He heard the song change for the second time, and knew that he had to go on to the next part of his performance now.

At first he was uncertain when he started walking up the front of the stage. The pole was set back pretty far, and was predictable. This far up, the customers were right there, and very unpredictable. But as he started to move to the music, closing his eyes and rolling his hips and shoulders, a certain kind of calmness spread through him, and when he opened his eyes next he was back in full swing.

Nothing that this section would definitely be easier with another dancer to work off of, Sam began by running his hands down his chest and then to his thighs, the way he’d seen all of the other dancers do it. Since he didn’t have on a shirt to strip off- his chest bare and probably glistening with sweat- he decided to go straight for the shorts. He ran his hands around the waistband, pulling them down an inch or two to expose his hipbones, and then pulling them back up. He didn’t go so far as to undo his fly, though. _‘No thanks.’_

Rolling his body, he sank to his knees, gyrating his hips in time to whatever bass line was vibrating his bones. He tried to plan ahead, to think about what he would do next and when. Running his hands roughly through his hair- making it even more unruly than it usually was- he stood up again, taking the time to turn around and move his hips some more. Suddenly, he had an idea. 

Sam laid out flat on his back on the floor, ignoring the uncomfortable way the wings dug into his back. He lifted his hips up off the floor, balancing on just his shoulders and feet, and began grinding the air that way. The crowd definitely liked it, and a couple girls reached up to try and touch him, even though he was way too far away for it to be possible. He stayed in that position for a moment, before flipping over to his stomach.

Getting another inspiration, he began to crawl forward on his hands and knees, putting a smirk on his face. He realized that he was probably thinking too much like Lucifer, but, hey, it worked for him, so why wouldn’t it work for Sam, too? The patrons seemed to agree, and more hands and bills went up to the stage. Sam grinned larger, because he was honestly thrilled at this outcome. Who knew that he would make a good stripper?

Soon enough his last song faded out, and he quickly scooped up the bills littering the floor, disbelief settling in now in place of the sheer nerves of before. Was this really all his? Did he really just do that? Was this really his life now? The answers were yes, but somehow that didn’t bother him. He had a fun job, a huge load of cash, and he felt like he could do anything. 

__

 

* * *

 

__

It was only after the club had been closed, and all the patrons had been pushed out, that Sam allowed himself to celebrate. He had been too focused earlier, but now that it was over, he was laughing with relief, and maybe some happiness too. The night had gone extremely well, and he had made about seven _hundred_ dollars in tips. That was more money than he’d ever had at one time in his whole _life_. It added a bounce to his step and an extra sweetness to the enjoyment of the night.

Sam rounded the staircase, having just grabbed his bag from his dressing room. Dean’s was already gone, so he assumed that his brother was already upstairs. He hadn’t seen Dean for most of the night, but as no one had been punched or given death threats, Sam assumed that the night had gone well for him, too. 

Coming up to the main floor, he saw that all of the dancers were milling around the floor, chatting with each other on their way out the door. Looking around over their heads, he spotted Dean talking to Castiel- no surprise there- and Raziel. Sam grinned to himself- it looked like Dean was making some new friends. He didn’t notice anyone come up behind him until a whisper was tickling his ear. “Hey, you did great up there.”

Sam jumped about a mile in the air, before turning around to glare at- _‘Really, who else would it be?’­_ \- Lucifer behind him. “What?” he replied, trying to still his terrified heart. Sneaking up on either Sam or his brother was never really a good idea- Dean’s been known to break noses that way. Sam usually could control himself better, but once he gave Bobby a hell of a black eye.

Smirking, Lucifer repeated, “You did a great job up there tonight. My compliments to your teacher.” He winked at Sam, crossing his arms. The other dancer still had his leather dog collar on, but he had traded out his coal black wings for a leather jacket, and his shorts for a tight-fitting pair of black jeans.

“Oh.” Sam grinned hesitantly, bringing a hand up to rub the back of his neck. “Thanks. I was terrified, actually.” He probably hadn’t breathed properly until he was heading back down those stage steps.

Lucifer shrugged. “Hey, it’s true- I will never lie to you. It was really well done, especially for a first time.” His sincerity made Sam blush, and he looked away, biting down on a grin. The fact that Lucifer- one of the best dancers here- had complimented him was amazing. He had been a bundle of nerves all night, but he could feel the tension now slipping out of his bones. 

“They look pretty friendly, don’t they?” Lucifer suddenly prompted. Sam tilted his head, confused. “I mean your brother and little Cassie over there. “ Sam followed Lucifer’s head jerk to see that Raziel had gone home, leaving Cas and Dean to themselves. Cas said something that made Dean laugh, throwing his head back. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say that those two have a little somethin-somethin going on.” Lucifer continued, grinning hugely.

Smiling, Sam said, “Well, I do know better, and Dean won’t admit to anything.” He paused, shaking his head. “But I know my brother, and he likes Cas. I’m sure of it. He just won’t say it, even to himself.” And really, it was so obvious. Dean didn’t have time for anyone else in the club except for Cas, and the way Dean looked at him… well, it reminded Sam of how he looks at Jessica sometimes. Dean couldn’t hide anything from Sam for very long, and ever since that first night at the club, he’d always been different around Cas. Nicer, calmer, happier, even.

Lucifer’s smile became predatory, and he rubbed his hands together. “Well, why don’t we do something about it?” The glint in his eyes made Sam nervous just on principle, and he wondered if Lucifer had chosen his stage name.

“Excuse me?” asked Sam, raising an eyebrow.

“I _mean_ … why don’t we show those two love birds that they obviously want each other? Make them realize the error of their ways. Make them stop eye-fucking, for god’s sake.” the blonde explained, making a face at the two.

Sam couldn’t help but laugh. Maybe that was what they needed- someone to point out the obvious and shove them together. God knows Dean was so obtuse that he almost always needed something like that. “Alright, yea, let’s do it.” He could definitely play the role of meddling little brother. 

Lucifer nodded, looking like he was already scheming. “Okay. I’ll start thinking of a plan, and I’ll let you know when you can help. Maybe we can even get Gabriel in on the mission….” He faded off into silence, mischief practically sparking off of him. It was an unusual- but no less exciting- side of Lucifer. It was a (welcome) change to his usual overly-flirtatious manner.

Sam turned back to watch his brother affectionately touch Cas’s arm in the middle of conversation, both of them now grinning. “I don’t think Dean will want anything to do with Gabriel.” he offered. The smaller blonde dancer seemed dead-set on getting on Dean’s bad side. So far, it seemed to be working. Sam, however, thought that Gabriel was hilarious, and that Dean could use a little teasing every now and again. He might even offer assistance to Gabriel, once he got to know him better.

Shaking his head, Lucifer countered, “I know, I know. He won’t actually be involved in it- just the planning. As much as that little shit annoys me, he is the best when it comes to things like these.” he admitted. Then he paused, raising his eyebrows and shrugging. “Well, except for me, of course.”

Sam snorted, unable to stifle another grin. “Okay, I believe you. Just help me whip my brother into shape.” Now the idea began to excite him, and he already began inventing half-formed scenarios and possible plans.Lucifer’s answering grin really made him look like his namesake, and Sam should definitely not have enjoyed this conversation that much. “I’m gonna go over and get Dean and get outta here. I’m exhausted.” he yawned, not needing to fake it.

“Alright, see you tomorrow.” Lucifer replied easily, switching his black bag to his other shoulder. They went opposite directions, Sam over towards the bar where Dean and Cas were, and Lucifer towards the door, presumably to go home. Sam couldn’t help but turn around and watch Lucifer push open the door and walk out, metal studs on his jacket glinting in the lights. 

Shaking his head roughly, Sam reached his brother. “Ready to go?” he asked, interrupting the words just about to come out of Dean’s mouth. ‘Cause he really was exhausted, and he wasn’t going to miss out on sleep just cause Dean couldn’t stop flirting with Cas.

Nodding, Dean answered, “Yea, sure,” not looking away from Cas. “Well, uh, night, Cas. See ya tomorrow.” He accompanied it with a little wave, which made Sam roll his eyes. Did his brother even know how deep in he was?

“Goodnight, Dean.” Cas replied, his normally blank face crinkled up in a smile. Dean nodded again, seeming reluctant to leave, and finally turned around, following Sam to the door. 

As he pushed open the door, Sam shot over his shoulder, “Sorry to interrupt your flirting, but I need my shut-eye.” He waited a moment for the words to sink in, reveling in Dean’s glare. He knew that Dean would argue- it was inevitable, really- but it was still worth it to annoy his big brother.

“We weren’t flirting, bitch.” he denied, huffily unlocking the Impala and getting in.

Sam laughed as he slid in the passenger side. He had wanted to talk to Dean about the night, but that looked like it would have to wait until they’d both gotten some sleep. “Whatever you say, jerk.” He was having too much fun with this, but the looks on Dean’s face were priceless. Hopefully his and Lucifer’s plan would work, because Dean and Cas needed some serious help.


End file.
